Let Others Follow
by Ravenclaw42
Summary: HP/LotR. Raised to PG-13 for lots of swearing. Hermione and a mismatched, seven-member "New Fellowship" arrive in Middle-earth, completely unprepared for the journey ahead: a journey they'd never expected...
1. Eye of N.E.W.T.

Overall A/N on the subject of the fic: The first thing to note is that the chapter titles do not reflect the nature of the story. The story is dealt with in a serious way, but the chapter titles are all very silly. Don't be fooled. Secondly, this is not a completed story. I am posting as I write because as all my teachers and my parents know, I am hopelessly impatient. My mood influences my writing, so if some characterizations are off or waver a bit during the course of the story, it's because I'm down or I'm hyper or I've been writing for 4 hours straight until 3 in the morning with nothing to sustain me but a can of Sprite and a roll of Sweet Tarts. (This has been known to happen, trust me. Go read my story Insanity @ 3 AM' and you will see the result of these combined factors.) I'll do some major polishing once this fic has run its course, I'm sure.  
Further up and further in,  
-Sarah, aka Raven  
  
Let the fic begin.  
  
(The boring essentials: Feel free to ignore this if you know the drill....  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the Lord of the Rings, in any of their various incarnations. Warner Bros., JK Rowling, etc, own HP. New Line, the Tolkien estate, etc, own LotR. I'm not making any money off my fics, or else I would probably be living in New Zealand right now (chatting with Peter Jackson, were all my dreams to come true...), and please do not sue me, because I just spent my last 10 bucks on the premier issue of Starlog: Fantasy Worlds. (Can you guess why? Half the articles are on HP, the other half on LotR... BIG DUH)  
Feedback: is a thing almost more acceptable than chocolate. (Almost.)  
Please no archiving without my consent.)  
  
Chpt. 1 A/N: Yes, it really will be a crossover someday. Kindly wait for my tired fingers to catch up with my racing thoughts and then you will be presented with Chapter Two, which, I hope, will be more interesting. :) Chpt. 1 is basically just getting caught up on the overall HP situation w/ Voldie and such.  
  
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Chapter One: Eye of N.E.W.T.  
------------  
  
_The Road goes ever on and on  
Out from the door where it began.  
Now far ahead the Road has gone,  
Let others follow it who can!  
Let them a journey new begin,  
But I at last with weary feet  
Will turn towards the lighted inn,  
My evening-rest and sleep to meet._  
-----------  
  
Ungh. Don't talk to me. I'm trying to... awwhhhn.... to... to... memorize...  
  
Harry shook his head. He never found out what Ron was trying to memorize, because he yawned and fell asleep in the middle of his sentence. As Harry closed his fifteenth book on the advancement of magic in the 20th century, Ron's head drooped forward onto the library table and the flame-haired Weasley boy snorted slightly and muttered something nasty, apparently to Quidditch referee that only he could see.  
  
Harry hated researching papers for Professor Binns, their History of Magic teacher, because the only sort of thing Binns would accept was something as dry and long-winded as the professor's own lectures. Harry added another sentence or two to his third roll of parchment on the subject -- and those three rolls were only notes and outlines; he hadn't even started the paper yet, though it was due tomorrow. He looked enviously across the table at Hermione's tidy stacks of papers and books, and at one paper in particular -- her finished essay, neatly signed and ready to turn in.  
  
He was just wondering if he dared take a quick peek at it to help him along when Hermione herself came walking back to the table with her arms full of books.  
  
Harry sighed and looked out the window instead. It was a gorgeous day outside -- sun shining, cool breeze blowing... the giant squid in the lake raised one tentacle out of the water and waved it enticingly, as if boasting to all the hot and miserable students studying for their finals that _it_ got to go in the lake and _they_ didn't. Harry scowled at it.  
  
It was his seventh year. Voldemort had been defeated end of last term, and now that all the trouble was over, everything was so incredibly _boring_. With his greatest enemy gone, there seemed nothing left to do. Hogwarts was still much better than the Dursleys' house, but then, he didn't have to stay at the Dursleys' any more since Sirius had been cleared of all charges and had moved back into his old house. Harry stayed at his place for the summers now, and even went over for Christmas sometimes. (At least, he had last year -- which had turned out to be disastrous, but Harry didn't care.) Sirius had even told him that he was welcome to stay there for a while once he graduated, while he looked for somewhere of his own.  
  
Ron's dad, Arthur Weasley, had finally been promoted to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the Weasley family income had been greatly increased. Ron never groused about Harry's small family fortune any more, since he had one of his own now. Fred and George had started a successful and currently booming business in magic tricks and gags, but usually spent most of the money they made inventing new and increasingly large and sometimes dangerous pranks. But since it was what they'd always wanted to do, they didn't mind the lack of real profit.  
  
Eloise Midgen's acne had miraculously cleared up in their fifth year, and though her nose was still off-center, she and Ron had been steadily dating for two years.  
  
As far as he knew, Hermione still kept in close contact with Viktor Krum. Krum had already graduated Durmstrang, and Harry was pretty sure Hermione was planning on meeting up with him once she had graduated also. As for Harry, he was still right on Cho Chang's tail. He hadn't exactly asked her out yet or anything, but really, he was _planning_ to. He just couldn't help but think about Cedric every time he saw her, and that in itself was rather off-putting, not to mention the fact that he went extremely red and had to duck or look away whenever she looked at him.  
  
Remus Lupin was now Professor Lupin once more, as he took up the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor last year. All the parents had agreed to it, despite the whole werewolf business, since he had rescued quite a few Ministry of Magic law enforcement agents two years ago and had actually received a medal and commendation from the Minister himself. (Fudge still held his top-ranking position, but thankfully he was a changed man -- the experiences of the past three years had been too much for his ego. He was much kinder, more open-minded, and humbler than he used to be.) Lupin himself had seemed completely shocked that anyone cared at all.  
  
Malfoy was just a gnat in Harry's ear anymore. Usually Harry ignored him completely, since his father was in jail and Draco himself was being closely watched all the time by the Ministry. One slip-up and he'd be joining Lucius in Azkaban -- which, thankfully, had normal human guards now. The dementors had flocked to Voldemort's side in the battle, but they had all been destroyed or banished in the end.  
  
Dumbledore was still Headmaster; all the teachers held their previous teaching positions, none of them had been hurt (even Snape); the castle hadn't changed very much for all the fighting and other oddnesses that had been going on for several years now; basically, everything was the same, only there wasn't any great evil that needed defeating. Just school. And these awful N.E.W.T.s that he had to pass to graduate. Harry loathed tests with a passion, but these were worse than any he'd ever had. There was apparently a _reason_ they were called Nastily Exhausting.'  
  
Harry turned back to his paper, looked at his last couple of notes, and groaned. He leaned forward and hit his forehead on the table a couple of times, startling Hermione out of the depths of _Advanced Bacteria and Fungi for the Knowledgable Student of Herb-Lore_, and making Ron grunt and twitch. (He'd stayed up half the night studying for Potions and had been feeling somewhat blurry all day, hence why he had finally given in to sleep.)  
  
What is it? asked Hermione. Something not making sense? I can probably help you...  
  
groaned Harry, still resting his forehead on his sheet of notes. Hermione's help' was almost never helpful, just more bewildering. I hate tests, that's all.  
  
Oh, come _on_, retorted Hermione. They're only to help you later in life, not kill you while you're young. You have to learn _something_, don't you?  
  
No. I don't want to learn anything at all. I want to be happy and stupid for the rest of my life.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes.  
  
All right, look here, she said. If you don't do that paper of yours that you've currently got your face in the middle of, I'll start reading this book to you. She brandished _Advanced Bacteria and Fungi_ at him. Harry caught a glimpse of a very large page with barely discernible, minuscule type on it, and decided he'd rather read about goblin peace treaties than hear several pages of big words about mold.  
  
He lifted his head, sighing again, and gave Ron a light shove. He woke up spluttering.  
  
Twelve uses of dragon's blood, professor, sir! Uhn... powerful transfiguration aide, especially in the Animagus charm, which is very complicated and... Harry? Wha? Oh. Thought it was the test already, he finished sheepishly, ears going extremely red.  
  
Harry snorted, and picked up _The Advancement of Magic in the 20th Century, Volume 16._  
  
-----------  
  
It was only two more weeks until Christmas break, which Harry was looking forward to immensely. Sirius had hinted that he might be paying a visit to the castle at Christmas rather than having Harry over, so Harry had put his name down on the list of people staying for the holidays (a list which was, he had noticed as he scrawled his signature, very short). He hoped he hadn't misjudged. Ron and Hermione put their names down, too, since they had nothing better to do.  
  
Three days passed and Harry hardly left the library. He felt like he was turning into Hermione, and it was vaguely horrifying. Even Ron could be found scanning through piles of books in his free time, trying desperately to master Transfiguration, which he was struggling with. Allowing his pride and ego to take control, he refused all help from Hermione and sat squinting at large books with very small type all day.  
  
Their last class before Christmas break was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Lupin remained the school's favorite teacher, not least _because_ he was a werewolf. (Besides the fact that he gave far less homework than the other teachers.) As a matter of fact, Lupin seemed to ignore what he was when he taught, and had spent a week solely on the subject of werewolves; how to discern one from a normal wolf, how to defend yourself, etc. Not surprisingly, it was the most detailed of his lessons, because he just knew a lot of it naturally. (In a broader view of the world, I may add that several of his lectures that week were later recorded in a tome of magical essays, and were regarded as some of the most controversial speeches on werewolves in the history of the magical community. Lupin delved, though not extremely deeply, into what it was like to _be_ a werewolf, and advocated, in most cases, to capture rather than kill the wolf, if it was at all possible; because, he reminded everyone strongly, a werewolf on the night of a full moon might be your physician, local store attendant, or even best friend for the other 29 days out of the month.)  
  
Harry shook Ron awake for the third time that day and pointed to the door of the library. Ron yawned gapingly and they stumbled blearily out into the halls. It was still fifteen minutes until class started, but their first stop was the second floor boys' bathroom.  
  
After shocking themselves awake by splashing their faces with icy water they finally managed to make their way to the Defense classroom -- which they found to be empty, except for Professor Lupin and Hermione standing by the desk. Lupin smiled when they entered, taking in their wet bangs and faces and guessing what had kept them.  
  
he said, in that impeccably calm voice they'd all become accustomed to. Decided to join the class after all? Harry and Ron, out onto the grounds, if you will. Hermione's been waiting for you. We're having a practical lesson again today -- I know you enjoy those, so off with you. I'll be there momentarily.  
  
Harry nodded, suppressing a yawn. Hermione came over, beaming in an annoying sort of cheerful way.  
  
Harry! Have you been in the library all night? I couldn't find you in the common room last night and with Ancient Runes along with everything else I didn't have any free time to check the library, but I figured that's where you'd be...  
  
Uhn. Fell asleep at the table. Ron woke up around midnight, so we were back really late. I'm surprised Filch didn't catch us.  
  
Oh, well. I finished my Potions essay, finally --  
  
You just have to remind me, don't you? Ron said, wincing.  
  
Well, if you'd get a decent night's sleep sometime maybe you could actually stay awake in the day and pay attention to class --  
  
Ron threw up his hands in exasperation and said, There's no such thing a decent night's sleep around here, Hermione! I stay up studying at night so I'll understand class the next day even thought I'm not _awake_ for the class next day! It's impossible, I tell you!  
  
Hermione sighed and gave up.  
  
Harry broke in with a hurried, What d'you suppose we'll be against today? Lupin's gone over just about every Dark creature there is.  
  
Hermione shrugged and Ron looked darkly at the front doors that they were now nearing. I've been flipping through _Fantastic Beasts_ about that. There's only a few things left -- the ones that aren't safe to have near any students, like dragons and basilisks and chimaeras.  
  
Harry thought he ought to be intimidated or something by the looming front doors in this case, but really, having just defeated the forces of the Dark Lord, another dragon didn't seem like too much trouble.  
  
They were just about to push open the heavy front doors when Professor Lupin, walking briskly down the halls, caught up with them. Smiling, he opened the door for them and motioned that they go out first.  
  
It's been a very pleasant week, hasn't it? he asked politely as they walked across the grass to where the rest of the class, looking extremely puzzled, was standing around a few hundred yards from Hagrid's hut. Warm for winter.  
  
I'm sure it has, Harry said bitterly. You'll have to tell me about it. I haven't been outside for six days.  
  
Mm. Tests. Somehow I feel satisfied, in a guilty way, to be giving tests instead of having to take them... for one thing I don't have to worry about keeping Peter off my back. He always wanted to copy my answers. Excuse me, would you? I have to go talk to Hagrid. Be right back.  
  
Lupin hurried off again. Harry and Ron exchanged glances and shrugged. All three of them went and stood by their classmates, waiting curiously for their lesson.  
  
Two minutes later, Lupin and Hagrid came back from Hagrid's cabin. Hagrid was leading Fang and appeared to be completely prepared for a long trip or something of the sort, what with his moleskin overcoat on and his tattered pink umbrella poking out of one overlarge pocket.  
  
Lupin was looking quite cheerful as he came and stood in front of the class.  
  
All here? Good. Now, what we'll be studying today is called an Acromantula. Can anyone tell me what that is? Ron?  
  
Hermione, Harry, and several others had put their hands in the air at the question, but Ron was one of the few who didn't. By his pasty white face and the cold sweat breaking out on his forehead, though, it was quite obvious that he knew what an Acromantula was.  
  
It's a... it's a... a... spider, choked Ron, apparently having lost his voice. Big spider. It can talk, and -- he stopped and tried to hide a shudder.  
  
Quite right, said Lupin, still perfectly cheerful. No worries, Hagrid is good friends with the one we're about to meet. It won't hurt any of you if you're with him, so don't wander off. We've made the arrangements already. We'll be meeting in a clearing near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Follow Hagrid and me, please.  
  
He's mad, muttered Ron, wiping his forehead with his sleeve.  
  
No, he's just a good teacher. Watch where you're going! -- oh. Hermione barely kept from laughing when Ron tripped over a tree root in his preoccupation with spiders.  
  
This particular Acromantula's name is Aragog. Lupin was calling loudly and walking backwards so everyone could see and hear him. Treat him with respect, please. One trait of an Acromantula is their inability to be trained or tamed in any way. I'm afraid it may not be a very good idea to get this one angry. Here we are!  
  
He turned around again at a tap on the shoulder from Hagrid. They were at the edge of the clearing. Ron's steps faltered as they neared it.  
  
Harry tugged Ron's sleeve to make him keep going. Finally he and Hermione practically had to drag Ron into the clearing, but once they had, it proved to be a very interesting lesson.  
  
Aragog was indeed there and thankfully either never noticed or didn't recognize Harry or Ron. He seemed only slightly grudging that he wasn't allowed to eat any of the students, but Hagrid told him very firmly that Dumbledore wouldn't like it whenever the spider turned a few of his blind eyes on one of the wary Gryffindors. (Lupin explained that even thought he was blind he could sense the exact location of everyone present with a sort of echolocation. Ron didn't seem too happy about that.)  
  
Ron looked about to faint when Hagrid finally bid Aragog farewell and they all left the woods. Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and the other Gryffindor boys were beside themselves -- they chattered on and on about Aragog's gigantuan mandibles and multiple milky eyes and the way they could just _tell_ he was going to try and leap out at them at any moment on his huge spindly legs. Ron gave them a withering glare as they passed on their way back to the castle.  
  
Lupin led them into the castle and stopped right inside the doors. He called everyone's attention and said, If my schedule's right, which in all this Christmas confusion it may not be, I believe this was your last class for this term? Twenty or more heads nodded. Well, then. No need to go back to the classroom, as I saw most of you had forgotten your things anyway -- several faces went red here --so go where you will. You're dismissed.  
  
People scattered in various directions, only a few of them going towards the Defense classroom for their things. Mostly they went towards either the Gryffindor tower or the library. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, however, stayed with Lupin and just followed him.  
  
Have you heard from Sirius lately? Harry asked as they walked back towards the Defense classroom.  
  
I have, said Lupin, trying to keep the laughter from his tone and failing.  
  
Harry prompted.  
  
Remus almost laughed but managed to hold it back in time. Composing himself, he said, He's coming to stay here for Christmas -- for old time's sake,' he said, and I quote. You might want to put a few extra locking charms on your trunks before he arrives. His version of nostalgia is a bit... different than everyone else's.  
  
Harry snorted. Ron looked vaguely worried, probably because he lived with Fred and George and knew precisely what Lupin was talking about. Hermione smiled.  
  
I suppose you still have some work left to do... Harry groaned at Lupin's words. Lupin smiled thinly. Better be off, then. I've got papers to grade -- Ravenclaw fifth years. If there are any students in this castle whose verbal skills were influenced by Professor Binns, the Ravenclaws would be them. Try and take comfort in the fact that I haven't actually been outside for more than two hours over the past week either, Harry. I'll see you tomorrow.  
  
He waved them off down the corridor and went into his classroom, running a hand through his gray-flecked hair. Harry sighed yet again and turned to the others. What now? I don't think I can stand another minute of studying today. I'll go crazy.  
  
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, then hesitated, as if a growing part of her agreed with him.  
  
And I need to recover, added Ron quickly. Dinner should be soon.  
  
Hermione gave in and laughed. They walked towards the Great Hall, feeling something of a burden lifted as they willingly left their books and papers behind them.  
  
-------  
  
Another week passed and Harry paced himself on schoolwork. A cold front had come in the day after their last Defense class, and there had been a fair amount of snow since then. Seamus, Dean, Harry, Ron and Neville were currently having a military-style snowball fight with several seventh-year Huffepuffs.  
  
As Harry and Neville ducked and ran a few yards to the cover of the next snowbank (the ducking part didn't help Neville, who got hit in the head by a snowball anyway -- a lot of it slid down the back of his coat and he yelped), Harry heard a loud cry from Ron behind him. The words were lost in the wind, but Harry looked up just in time to see a huge black dog bounding through the snow straight towards him. He shouted and tried to throw himself out of the way, but the dog rammed straight into his shoulder, reminiscent of the time in Harry's third year when this same dog -- or rather, his godfather, Sirius Black -- had bowled him over in his enthusiasm to get at Peter Pettigrew, also known as Wormtail.  
  
The dog rolled to a stop behind Harry; it turned into a man with a small _pop_, and before Harry could do anything Sirius had yanked back the hood of Harry's winter cloak, grabbed a handful of snow, stuffed it in the hood, and pulled the hood right back over Harry's head and face. Sirius howled with laughter as Harry tried to struggle to his feet and get the snow out of his hair at the same time.  
  
Ron came plowing towards them through the snow just as all the other Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs rushed past in a jumbled attempt to pelt Neville and Justin Finch-Fletchly, a Hufflepuff, with as many snowballs as they could get their hands on. Apparently Neville and Justin had been designated the first-priority targets and everyone else had given up their sides to chase them.  
  
Sirius choked to a stop in his laughter when Harry scooped up a snowball and threw it square in his face. Ron finally reached them as Sirius was coughing and wiping slush out of his eyes.  
  
Sirius stood up and grinned at the two of them. Miss me? he said mischievously. His personality had taken a huge swing back towards the way he used to be before Azkaban because of the Dark Lord's downfall (Sirius was always grimly proud to say, afterwards, that he had had a personal hand in the execution of Wormtail, although Harry tried to avoid him when he got himself into that mindset. It brought out the deeply buried madness that had been left over in him after the war and several more close encounters and long stays with dementors; and the deadened aspect of his dark eyes became more pronounced, which was always unsettling).  
  
Harry grinned back and shook his hand, as if between co-conspirators (and indeed, Sirius' neighbors dreaded the summers when Harry would come over, because of the stunts they were capable of pulling off when they worked together).  
  
Hermione burst out of the front doors of the castle at that moment, hardly dressed for walking in snow, in only her regular robes and a light cloak. She shivered and crossed her arms in the strong wind, but managed to fight her way over to them.  
  
she chattered. Great to s-see you! I s-saw you f-fly in -- I was b-by the w-window. H-how h-have you b-been?  
  
Sirius shook his head and took off one of his two heavy cloaks and put it over Hermione's shoulders. She smiled appreciatively, though her teeth kept chattering.  
  
Let's get inside first, said Sirius over the wind. I want to check on old Remus, too. How's he doing? Snape still making the potion for him?  
  
They trudged through the snow up to the front doors, which clanged shut behind them, making Hermione jump.  
  
He's fine, and yes, said Harry, taking off his own heavy cloak in the sudden heat of the halls. Either they had had a central heating system installed or the house-elves were really getting busy with the fireplaces and Heating Charms, because the inside of the castle was sweltering this year, unlike previous years when it had been chilly and drafty in winter. I've heard Snape griping about having to make it fresh every month and how complicated it is and stuff...  
  
Sirius snorted. Sounds like him.  
  
Going to ignore me all day?  
  
Sirius jumped and spun around. There was Lupin, standing next to the front doors with his arms crossed, smiling as usual. Sirius laughed, and he and Lupin embraced briefly.  
  
Harry said Snape's being unusually vindictive this year, said Sirius, as they all walked in comfortable company towards Gryffindor tower. Lupin nodded, grimacing. How goes it with the Registry?  
  
Lupin shrugged, suddenly quiet. Fairly well.  
  
Sirius smile flickered, then returned. He turned his attention to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who had been silent until then. How's the last year going for you three? Going to pass the N.E.W.T.s with flying colors, I expect.  
  
Ungh. Don't talk about tests. I'm sick of tests, muttered Ron, and Harry nodded vigorously. Hermione frowned slightly and gave the two boys a brief glare. Sirius snorted.  
  
They came up to the portrait of the Fat Lady and Harry absentmindedly said the password (Artemis Fido).  
  
The castle's unusually full for Christmas break, Sirius commented dryly as they tried to force their way through the crowded common room to the far corner.  
  
The train leaves tomorrow, said Hermione.  
  
They found an empty table and sat around it; they talked for a while and did the usual catching-up on each other's business. Eventually Lupin left, saying he needed to get some sleep. Harry glanced quickly out the window and saw that the moon was nearing full, and couldn't blame the professor.  
  
They talked for a while longer, until it seemed that they had run out of things to talk about. After a long while of debating, Harry, Ron, and Hermione got up and went up their respective staircases to the dorms, while Sirius left the tower for the guest rooms across the castle.  
  
Gonna be a weird Christmas, Ron muttered groggily from behind his curtains several minutes later, when they were both lying in their beds trying to go to sleep.  
  
murmured Harry, half-way gone already.  
  
No bad guys, Ron went on, voice fading. Don't have to worry about jinxed brooms or anything... gotta worry bout maroon sweaters, though.... He fell asleep mid-sentence again, and shortly started snoring lightly.  
  
Harry didn't hear his last words, though, because he had gone to sleep on the words bad guys.'  
--------


	2. Do Not Open 'Til X-Mas

Chapter Two: Do Not Open Til X-Mas  
  
Finally Christmas came. Harry was really more grateful for the fact that there weren't so many people crowding the halls than he was for the actual gifts and Christmas spirit.  
  
It was Christmas Eve, and Ron and Sirius were currently running circles around everyone else in a big chess-tournament type thing they'd set up. They had two chess sets, Harry's and Ron's, and had put them both on adjoining tables. Harry went against Ron and Hermione against Sirius the first time around. Ron stomped on Harry, as usual, and Sirius surprised everyone by actually managing to make Harry's awfully trained chess set come back from an apparently given loss to a spectacular win. Hermione had bowed out right then, throwing up her hands and saying she was no good at chess. Next Lupin went against Harry, and Ron against Sirius -- these two pairs took the longest, since Harry and Lupin managed to _both_ get on the losing side of a terribly-played game, and ended up in a complete stalemate. On the other hand, Sirius and Ron did the complete opposite; eventually it proved impossible for them to play against each other because they were both too good. They got into a stalemate twice, and on the third try Ron beat Sirius by a single player. It didn't help that the chess sets themselves kept shouting out advice to the people using them. When Harry and Lupin tried using Ron's set, they were both utterly confused by the really _good_ advice the pieces were giving them; and Sirius and Ron were both driven crazy by Harry's set, which was awful at it's own game and kept pointing out the wrong moves (not to mention the pieces kept getting into fights with each other). Finally Sirius threatened to turn all Harry's chess pieces into miniature chickens, at which point both the sets stopped talking entirely. During all this, they developed quite an audience, as most of the students left in the common room (16 or so) came over to watch. They cheered on Ron and Sirius and either tsked sympathetically at, or were sent into hysterics by Harry and Lupin, who both played so badly that it was quite entertaining to watch and see how horribly they could lose.  
  
All in all, they had a great time.  
  
---------  
  
The next morning Harry was awakened by a pillow hitting his head, followed by a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. He groaned, sat up, and felt blindly for his glasses. He had new glasses now -- they still had black rims, but they weren't perfectly round and neither did they have the old Scotch tape look. He put them on and blinked several times. Ron and Dean were the only others left in the seventh years' dorm. Harry blinked again and felt for the package, which was now buried under his covers.  
  
said Ron. Finally! It's almost noon. I've been trying to wake you up for ages.  
  
Check out your stash, added Dean with a wicked smile, tossing up his new soccer ball and catching it one-handed.  
  
Harry rolled out of bed, lumpy package under one arm, and crawled to the foot of his bed to see what Dean meant -- and he had to stare, briefly, when he saw the enormous mound of packages that had appeared there overnight. Ron slapped him on the back and motioned for him to start unwrapping. Harry could tell he hadn't been up for as long as he said he had by the fact that he still had half of his own pile of packages left to go.  
  
When does she _learn_?! Ron cried despairingly when he ripped open the next gift. He held up the thing -- it was a sweater from his mother. Maroon. Again. I help save the world and she _still_ can't figure out what colors I like.  
  
Harry opened the package Ron had thrown at him. It was also a Weasley sweater, though his was red and had a big Golden Snitch knitted on the front.  
  
Harry spread his packages out over the floor and took stock of all of them. He picked up the smallest and opened it first -- a penknife from Sirius to replace the one he'd lost last year. The next was an enormous box of rock cakes and treacle fudge from Hagrid, along with a card with a picture of Hogwarts on the front, covered in snow, with tiny students moving on the ground in front of it. Harry carefully set aside the food. He'd had far too much experience with Hagrid's cooking and knew better than to eat any of it.  
  
Several gifts later, he came across something very odd. It was slightly bigger than the penknife package, but sort of the same shape. He picked it up -- it was very heavy, and he nearly dropped it again. What the-- he muttered, ripping the paper.  
  
Underneath the paper was a layer of rough cloth. Harry carefully unwrapped the cloth and found, to his immense surprise, a small dagger. It was simple, with a plain steel blade and an ivory handle. He gave it a blank look, and when he fingered the edge to test its sharpness he found himself sucking the blood off a small cut a moment later.  
  
Hey, Ron, he said, taking his thumb out of his mouth and pressing it to the knee of his pants to stop the bloodflow. Look at this. He held out the blade.  
  
Ron glanced at it and nodded, unsurprised. He reached up and carefully took down an identical knife from his bedside table. Harry and Ron looked at each other with almost identical, Don't ask _me_ expressions. Dean looked over curiously and shrugged.  
  
Are there notes? he asked.  
  
said Harry. Ron shook his head.  
  
Ask Professor Lupin or something. We're probably missing the feast. Dean headed for the door.  
  
Any clue at all? Harry asked Ron quietly as Dean left.  
  
Ron shook his head again, but added, I'm taking mine downstairs. I want to show it to Lupin or Dumbledore or someone -- it's really weird, you know, coming _after_ You-Kno -- sorry, Voldemort, was defeated. I'd expect something like this _before_ then, but now...  
  
said Harry. I'm leaving mine here, though. I don't like to think what'd happen if Filch or Snape caught us _both_ carrying around weapons inside. We can probably explain off just one.  
  
Ron nodded, wrapped up his blade with both of the thick pieces of cloth, and stuck it through one of the belt loops in his jeans. Then they went downstairs to the Great Hall and the famous Hogwarts Christmas dinner. The house-elves seemed to outdo themselves every year with the food and the decorations, and this year was no exception. They almost forgot about the odd daggers when they sat down at one of the long tables and tucked into the excellent food.  
  
Hermione was late in coming to meet up with them, and when she did, she only picked at her food. She looked extremely happy about something. When Ron was serving himself a third helping of pudding for desert and Harry didn't feel he could eat another bite, Harry finally asked her what was up.  
  
she said distractedly. Oh. Well, this. Look. Viktor sent it -- isn't it beautiful? She held out her hand; she was wearing a ring that was obviously new.  
  
Harry couldn't see anything particularly special about it. It was a plain gold ring; nice if you liked expensive, pointless gold jewelry, but not useful for much.  
  
'S nice, said Harry vaguely. Ron barely glanced up.  
  
Hermione seemed to think differently, though. She looked at it as if it were quite precious to her. Well, _I_ love it. He sent you two some things too, for your information. His card said to tell you myself, because he wouldn't be caught dead writing cards to you two. Just like a boy, but that can't be helped.  
  
Harry looked sidelong at Ron. He wouldn't have happened to send, uh, knives or some such, would he?  
  
Some sort of pointy object of destruction, I think; he hinted at that, she replied, still fingering her ring lovingly.  
  
Harry sighed. It made a lot more sense, now, and he decided he wouldn't worry about it.  
  
He watched Ron continue to eat unbelievable amounts of food through half-closed eyelids, and sighed again, thought it was a sigh of contentment this time instead of exasperation.  
  
---------  
  
That night everyone went to bed stuffed with good food and with their bedside tables littered with gifts and wrapping paper, the latter of which would be cleaned up in the night by the silent house-elves. Harry fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.  
  
But move down from the boys' dorm, down the spiraling stairs to the common room and back up again; up the twin staircase to the girls' rooms. The hall at the top of the stair is lined with seven doors; three on the right, four on the left. The second door on the left is the seventh years' dorm; there's a small plaque there that proclaims it as such. Behind that door is a circular room identical to all the other Gryffindor dorm rooms; six beds are lined around its walls, and the third bed from the right side of the door is the bed in which Hermione Granger is sound asleep.  
  
Her bedside table isn't nearly as cluttered as the others', because she organizes her things even on Christmas day. All her gifts are neatly stored in the drawers of the table, and some in her trunk at the foot of her bed; all except her ring, which sits out on the tabletop.  
  
Lavender Brown, in the next bed over, stirs slightly and rolls over, but she remains asleep.  
  
Parvati Patil, directly to the left side of the door, mutters something so obscene about Pansy Parkinson that she would have received a week's detention if Professor McGonagall had overheard her.  
  
All the other girls have gone home for Christmas, leaving four empty beds.  
  
And Hermione Granger wakes up suddenly, just as the great grandfather clock in the trophy room downstairs chimes the first time of twelve.  
  
She sat up rubbing her eyes disconcertedly. She blinked several times, realized that she had to use the bathroom really badly, and quickly got out of bed and headed for the girl's washroom right at the end of the hall lined with its seven dormitory doors.  
  
The grandfather clock kept chiming.  
  
And the ring on the table sensed it.  
  
Slowly, very slowly, it was becoming aware. It was waking up from a short respite, knowing full well that it had a new encasement -- this one was cold, so very cold, whereas it had just been gloriously warm a moment ago, burning; burning in the fires of its mountain; but..... where was it? The ring had no memory. It never had. Not clear memories, anyway, because what had it to remember? It had none of the five senses that elves and mortals were limited by; it couldn't remember pictures or smells or tastes because it knew not what these things were. It merely perceived; the individual minds around it and the far-reaching stretch of other minds, all melded together, with glimmers of the minds of lands hundreds of thousands of miles away. The Ring perceived all.  
  
And right now it was perceiving quite strongly that something was _really_ wrong.  
  
Its master waited for it; it could feel that at least -- but the master was greatly weakened by the destruction of the ring's old body, for the master had mixed his own blood with the gold he had used to forge that ring. And he was far away... further away than the ring ought to be able to sense, except for that bond between the master and the ring that connected them at all times. Master was not fully conscious. Master was not aware that the ring had survived the fires of its mountain. But Master would become aware... and then the Halfling would pay. The ring had nearly taken the Halfling, but he was too strong in will, and he had a companion with glass walls in his mind, which the ring had not been able to scale, merely to peer through.  
  
The ring was a great deal further away from master this time than it had been the last time, thousands of years ago, when the Man had taken it from master's hand. At such a distance master would never regain enough strength to defeat his world, and the ring could see no way to travel that distance without some special device, for vast stretches of time and space lay between it and master. But the destruction of master's blood-work would not go unnoticed by him when he awoke; and though he may not defeat the world, he would take the ones who caused him such grievous harm and return to them the pain that they caused him.  
  
The ring was pleased with this perception.  
  
The clock chimed for its twelfth time, and a faint red glow came from the ring in its pleasure. It grew warm, and it hewed through its metal body with words from the inside; words in flowing elvish script, so small as to be barely discernible, on the inside and outside of the golden band:  
  
Ash nazg durbatutluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatuluk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul....  
  
And the ring was aware.  
  
The glow faded and the words grew cool and vanished without a trace. A minute or two after the clock downstairs had stopped chiming, Hermione came back down the hall into her dorm. She sat down in bed and pulled the covers up over her lap, then paused, and looked at the ring again. She smiled, picked it up, fingered it lovingly.  
  
Feeling suddenly sleepy, she put it back on the table and laid down, pulling the covers up around her chin. She didn't notice that the heat of her hand had made the glowing letters flare ever so briefly before they faded away again, and shadow took all under its wing.  
-------------


	3. The Invisible, Uh -- Girl?

--------  
A/N: I forgot to put an a/n on the last chapter. I know this story is listed as action/adventure, but if that's what you're looking for in this fic, you're going to have to wait another 2 or 3 chapters. This starts out somewhat slowly, because I have to situate the readers in my version of Harry's 7th year. From here on out it should get a bit more interesting, though.  
  
--------------  
Chapter Three: The Invisible, Uh -- Girl?  
--------------  
  
_You could even say it glowed --_  
  
Like a lightbulb--  
  
_And all the other reindeer --_  
  
  
  
Stop inturruptin' me! Where was I? Yeh mongrel!  
  
Not looking so good yourself, either.  
  
Harry ducked as the suit of armor blindly swung its mace at him. The armor tripped over the foot of one of the statues in the hall and fell on its visor, denting it.  
  
Ron yanked Harry down by the back of his robes so he was hidden behind the statue along with him and Hermione. Hermione was trying to convince the two boys to stop tormenting the decorations, but Ron and Harry would have none of it.  
  
It's highly dangerous -- that one with the axe! -- and Dumbledore wouldn't like you two to be --  
  
Oh, come _on_, Hermione, said Ron exasperatedly, pulling her away and into the empty classroom just on the other side of the statue. The suit of armor was still blundering around in the hallway. There's another one in the next corridor. I just heard it singing Silent Night.' It serves them right anyway, for singing so badly. Shall we do the carpet, or something new? The last was directed at Harry.  
  
Harry opened his mouth to suggest singing Silent Night' in a duo of Spanish and Latin to _really_ confuse the armor, when there was a loud crash and string of cursing, creaking, and off-key notes from the corridor Ron had mentioned.  
  
Sounds like Peeves got it first, Ron said sadly. Let's check the third floor corridor again.  
  
Where's Sirius? Harry asked quietly as they headed for the third floor, Hermione whispering protests all the way.  
  
I dunno, said Ron. He said something about the staircases --  
  
Harry flung out an arm to stop Ron just in time. The stairs that had been just in front of them vanished. Along the hall behind them, a twisting staircase going up also went invisible, and another beyond that. It seemed that all the stairs in the castle were disappearing.  
  
There's your answer, said Ron.  
  
Apparently walking in midair, Sirius appeared around the corner of the landing right underneath them and trotted up thin air to greet them.  
  
Ah! Harry. What've you been up to? Sirius said, stepping off the emptiness onto the floor in front of them.  
  
Just -- tripping up the carolers, that's all. Harry looked at the nothing that was the staircase. What you've been up to seems a bit more important.  
  
No worries, said Sirius cheerfully. They're only invisible, they're not insubstantial. Go on. Before Harry could stop him, he gave him a light shove in the small of the back. Harry was knocked forward a couple of steps, and his foot came down on the top stair. It was quite solid.  
  
Lupin came down the spiral stairs (or at least the place they used to be) along the hall, apparently unfazed by the fact that he wasn't walking on anything.  
  
Sirius? There you are. I thought you'd do something like this. Did you get Harry to help you or did you rig all hundred and forty-two by yourself?  
  
Just me. Been working on it for a week. I'm surprised you didn't notice before now.  
  
Didn't I? Sirius gave Lupin a blank look. Lupin sighed and pulled a crumpled old square of parchment out of his pocket.  
  
Harry recognized it, but -- the Marauder's Map had been burned last year. It was caught in a fire in one of the classrooms. Harry asked, startled, Where'd you get that?  
  
You don't think we only had one copy, do you, Harry? Lupin smiled and put the paper back in his pocket. It took me a while to find it. James was supposed to be the only one who knew where the hiding place was for the reserve copies. We only dared have one out at all times because of the danger that Filch might catch us.  
  
Harry's tone was somewhat deflated.  
  
continued Lupin, turning back to Sirius, how could I miss these? He went over to the invisible stairs, bent down, and brushed his fingers over the floor as if in search of something. Right at the edge of the top step they caught on something, and he yanked up a small string of some fine, almost invisible substance. With a flicker and a jolt, the stairs reappeared. Lupin held up the string and turned to Sirius with raised eyebrows. I saw them lying around all over the place.  
  
Sirius shrugged. With only you to recognize them, I figured I didn't need to hide them quite so well. (Hide it? thought Harry. Why on earth would you have to go to any trouble to hide it? He looked at the barely visible strand and back to Sirius incredulously.)  
  
Lupin made a derisive noise and dropped the string back on the stairs. They vanished again. Might as well let you have your fun, he said mildly. Sirius grinned. It grew wider when they heard a distant shout and crash.  
  
So the game begins, he said softly. Momentarily he shook himself and added, I've got to go. Don't follow me, unless you want Filch on your backs. He ran as if well-experienced down the invisible stairs and turned the corner at the bottom in a swish of black robes.  
  
There's one Marauder left, at least, commented Lupin.  
  
Don't we count? asked Ron indignantly as they walked down the invisible stairs a bit more cautiously. Me and Harry? Hermione wouldn't be caught dead a Marauder.  
  
It seems to me to be somewhat of a generational thing, said Lupin. I'm not sure you could replace us under the same name. But you've certainly earned a place in Filch's most secure records, he added wryly as they passed a suit of armor that had been bewitched to sing all its Christmas carols backwards.  
  
Hermione sighed from behind them and they heard the rustling of her robes as she pulled out her wand to perform the counter-spell.  
  
said Ron, turning. That one was hard to do! Leave -- He stopped midsentence and mouthed for a second. Then;   
  
she asked irritably. Harry looked around. Ron's voice had sounded very strange.  
  
Hermione wasn't there.  
  
What is it? repeated Hermione.  
  
Suddenly she screeched.  
  
Wh-wh---where am I? Did Sirius curse me when I wasn't looking? What --  
  
Calm down, Hermione, said Lupin, as if he weren't at all unused to people going spontaneously invisible (which he probably wasn't). I think I can fix this, unless it's one of Sirius's new inventions. He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the place Hermione had been, muttering something.  
  
Nothing happened. He frowned, and walked past them down the hall, to where a staircase used to be. Again he felt around, and came up with another piece of strange string-like stuff. He brought it over to them and asked Hermione to take one end of it and see if that helped, because, he explained, Sirius's invisibility spells always canceled each other out when they touched: that was their only flaw. The string moved by itself, as if a hand were picking it up; but the hand never reappeared.  
  
Give me a moment. There's a spell that forces another spell to show it's true nature, said Lupin, his perpetually calm voice starting to become somewhat concerned in tone, which worried Harry and Ron immensely. Lupin pointed his wand at the location of Hermione's voice and said loudly, _Revalium Incantatem!_  
  
Harry was hardly aware of what happened next, it was all so fast and confusing. A shadow seemed to pass over all the windows, and the hall grew dark; there was a sudden rush of cold wind, and Harry could swear it carried whispered words spoken by a voice like ice and fire as one, harsh as stone. The words were terrible though he couldn't understand the language, and they told of an evil beyond all name, that defied all description.  
  
The suit of armor screeched to an off-key halt and the plates of steel that had been enchanted to stay together as one body fell apart and clattered to the floor; the enchantment had been overcome by this strange new power. Several monks sleeping in a nearby portrait woke up screaming and ran for cover in the landscape upstairs. There was more shouting and several crashes from downstairs, though whether these were Sirius's fault or the shadow's remained to be seen.  
  
Harry was knocked backwards into Ron, and they both went sprawling to the floor. He heard as if from a great distance a scream that might might have been Hermione's, and a shout, crash, and thump that might have been from Lupin.  
  
Then the shadow passed, and the echo of diminishing whispers came to Harry's ears, soft and sinister:  
  
_ash nazzzg...  
_  
Sunlight poured in again, thought it was colder now and seemed to Harry to be paler as well. He struggled to his feet and helped Ron up, then took stock of his surroundings -- the scattered pieces or armor, empty portraits, and the sound of worried shouting downstairs. But he ignored these and looked around for Lupin and Hermione instead.  
  
Hermione was still gone; invisible or actually elsewhere, he didn't know. It was Lupin that worried him. The professor was lying in a crumpled heap at the foot of the wall. He had been thrown backwards and hit his head -- blood was trickling down into his eyes, his face was pale and cold sweat stood out on his forehead. Harry checked his pulse; he was alive but his heartbeat was uneven and racing.  
  
gasped Harry. Try and find Hermione. I'm getting Madam Pomfrey --  
  
What's happened here?  
  
Dumbledore stood at the top of the stairs, which had become visible again as Sirius's enchantment was wiped away by whatever power Lupin had awoken.  
  
I don't know, sir, said Harry truthfully. Professor Lupin needs to get to the hospital wing --  
  
There was a small gasp and a clink. Ron jumped backwards -- he'd been about to step on Hermione, who had just reappeared. Her eyes were wide and her face pasty. The clink had been from her new ring falling on the stone floor. It didn't roll or spin, as something of its light weight ought to have done; but rather fell as though it were ten times its weight, making a soft _clank_ as it hit the floor and lay still.  
  
Hermione's breathing was heavy and ragged. She looked blankly up at Harry and mouthed for a moment before gasping out, Harry -- I don't know -- what happened -- the ring got so heavy, Harry, so cold and heavy, I don't know what's happening but --  
  
Miss Granger, said Dumbledore.  
  
She jumped.  
  
Sir -- what's going on?  
  
I don't know, Miss Granger. I don't believe any of us do. It may be something leftover from Voldemort, but we have to keep open minds -- but you needn't worry about it just now. Professor Lupin needs to be taken to Madam Pomfrey as quickly as possible.  
  
Professor -- what's wrong with Professor Lu -- oh! Oh, God! Harry! Ron! What's happening?  
  
She went into hysterics when she saw Lupin lying on the floor unconscious. She had gotten onto her feet by then and Harry had to grab her and hold her arms behind her back to keep her still. Dumbledore put a calming charm over her and she immediately relaxed.  
  
Dumbledore reached down and picked up the ring. Harry grew more worried still when he didn't seem to be able to touch it. He drew in a sharp breath, quickly placed the ring back on the stones of the floor, and shook out his hand, shaking his head and frowning. The twinkle had gone out of his clear blue eyes.  
  
Harry, Mr. Weasley, look after Hermione and Professor Lupin for a moment. He drew out a small pouch from his pocket, poured a tiny mound of its contents into his palm, and replaced the pouch. Then with a tap of his wand he conjured a small bluebell flame, just like the one Lupin had called up on the train at the beginning of Harry's third year. The fine powder Dumbledore had put in his palm crackled and made the fire flare green. Holding the flames in his cupped hand close to his face and careful not to breathe hard on them, Dumbledore called into the fire, Poppy. Poppy, you're needed urgently in the fifth floor secondary corridor.  
  
Faintly Harry heard Madam Pomfrey's voice answering, Yes, Headmaster. I'll be there in a moment.  
  
Pomfrey only called Dumbledore Headmaster' in that tone when she was really upset about something and was trying to keep herself from shouting at the first person who talked to her, so Harry gathered that the whole castle had felt the passage of the shadow.  
  
Dumbledore twitched his hand and the fire leapt up again. Harry paid less attention as he continued calling staff members, and concentrated on the ring on the floor.  
  
he muttered, handing Hermione over to Ron. He walked forward and crouched down to look at the ring. Remembering Dumbledore's reaction he knew better than to touch it, but he wanted a closer look, so he put his face so close to the floor that his nose was nearly touching the cold stone.  
  
The ring was no longer the plain gold band it had been yesterday afternoon at the table, when Hermione had shown it to him. Tiny, fiery letters were fading from it -- they looked like they glowed with some inner fire, but Harry shook his head, telling himself it wasn't possible. Then again... the whispering shadow... anything seemed possible compared to it.  
  
Harry looked up and rocked back on his heels. Something was stirring in his memory. He could almost place it... a ring... the shadow of a nameless fear, glowing letters; even the strange script the letters were written in seemed to make some strange, vague sense. But where had he seen it before....  
  
Madam Pomfrey came bustling up the steps just then, and though he was on the verge of a breakthrough in his train of thought, it was all lost at the sound of her brisk voice.  
  
-----------  
  
Lupin remained unconscious for a full day. Hermione needed calming down almost constantly, and it was four hours before she finally went to sleep in one of the hospital wing beds. Dumbledore had questioned Ron and Harry thoroughly, and they'd told them everything they knew, which wasn't much.  
  
Everything they knew. Well, Harry didn't _know_ anything quite yet about the thought that he had lost track of a moment before Dumbledore had started asking questions, he rationalized to himself in the common room that night. So it wasn't like he was withholding information or anything.  
  
Still... he thought he might be able to know what was going on, if only he was given a chance to think in a quiet room with no other people around.  
  
The Creevey brothers had stayed for the Christmas holidays, and they pestered Harry and Ron so much about the shadow that they weren't given a moment's peace. Several others were also curious, but some were shaken to the point of silence. Natalie McDonald, a fourth year who was usually a chatterbox and impossible to shut up, was now sitting quietly in the far corner with her arms crossed and her head down. It may have been his imagination, but he thought he saw the faint glimmer of tears on her face when she looked up at the fire at one point. Harry stole glances at her all the time. Some of the sudden changes of behavior in the castle's inhabitants worried him.  
  
Ash nazg. The shadow's whispers held a far-off familiarity. Ash nazg.... gimbatul, gimbatul, that was it! But it was just another word... it wasn't the answer. _Where had he heard it before...?  
_  
Finally Harry grew so sick of Colin Creevey's pestering that he shouted for the younger boys to leave him alone. Ron gave him a sidelong look, but when Harry stormed up the staircase to his dorm room, Ron stayed behind, sitting in front of the fire and apparently trying to warm up, despite the heat of the castle. Harry knew how he felt. Ever since the shadow had passed, nothing seemed warm anymore, even fire itself.  
  
Harry laid down in bed and tried to settle. He failed miserably and ended up curled up with his knees pulled up to his chest. There had to be an explanation. He had to find some way to unwedge that memory... it was just like the whole Nicolas Flamel business in first year, he thought desperately. Just like it. I must have read it somewhere. What have I read recently?  
  
But with all the reading in the library, studying for tests, this train of thoughts got him nowhere. He kept trying to think whether any of the thirty volumes of _The Advancement of Magic in the 20th Century_ had mentioned anything about an evil ring, even though he knew they hadn't.  
  
Finally Harry slipped into a restless sleep, his mind still working furiously in the depths of memory, trying to dig up... _something_...  
  
***  
_One Ring to rule them all_  
**Ash nazg durbatuluk**  
Three rings for the elven-kings....seven for dwarf-lords... nine... nine for...  
The Land of... of, of Mordor, where Shadows...  
Fly, you fools!_  
One Ring to find them  
_**Ash nazg gimbatul**  
I sit beside the fire and think of all that I have seen --'  
I will take the ring... though I do not know the way.  
-- of meadow-flowers and butterflies in summers that have been...'  
_One Ring to bring them all_  
**Thrakatuluk agh**  
We wants it, my precious, yesss... ach, _gollum! gollum!_'  
It was hot when I first took it, hot as a gelde, and my hand was scorched, so that I doubt if ever again I shall be free of the pain of it--  
There long the golden leaves have grown upon the branching years...'  
_and in the darkness bind them!_  
**burzum-ishi krimpatul!**  
_ash nazg..._  
***  
  
Harry woke with a start.  
----------


	4. Ron's 15 Minutes (of Stupidity)

A/N: Here we go. LotR begins to emerge from the horror of school exams, now that Harry's got it through his thick head what's going on... the next chapter will, if all goes well (which it may not, you know), be the last one that takes place in Harry's world for a while.... (Also, be warned: this chapter is REALLY LONG! I don't know how it got this long, I didn't intend it to be. Sorry.)  
------------  
  
Chapter Four: Ron's 15 Minutes (of Stupidity)  
  
Harry gasped. It was nearly four in the morning, or so the faintly glowing clock on the wall said. He had just woken up from a nightmare that was already slipping away... no! He wouldn't let it go! He had to hold onto it... it was important...  
  
He dove out of bed and ripped open the drawers of his bedside table in search of parchment, ink and quill. He cursed the day he had learned he was a wizard, because if he were a Muggle he'd only have to bother with a pen and notebook rather than all the trouble of blotting paper and feathers and... and... finally he came up with what he needed, and caught the last fringes of the dream before it slipped away.  
  
_one ring to rule them all,_ he scribbled. _Gollum. land of mordor where shadows lie._ Then, as an inspired afterthought, he added, _lord of the rings. Dudley's shelf 1st year.  
_  
He leaned back against the side of his bed and took a deep breath. Now that he knew what he was dealing with -- and he didn't doubt it for a second, that shadow had been all the convincing he needed -- he felt the next step was telling someone. Ron. Had to find Ron.  
  
He took a few deep breaths to make his heart stop pounding, and crept to the side of Ron's four-poster. He drew back the curtains, but the bed was empty, and the covers were still made. So he had probably never come up. Harry stood still a moment longer, forcing himself to calm down, then padded barefoot down the spiral stairs (fully visible) to the common room.  
  
His guess had been right. Ron had fallen asleep in front of the fire. He was currently snoring loud enough to wake the dead (metaphorically speaking). Harry went over and shook him.  
  
Ron grunted and refused to wake up for several minutes, but Harry finally roused him by going back upstairs and getting the water pitcher from the windowsill in the dorm room, and drizzling a constant stream of icy water on Ron's head (he didn't want to get the furniture too wet because Filch would be after his blood).  
  
Harry was forced to clap a hand over Ron's mouth when he finally woke up in order to keep the Weasley boy from rousing the whole castle with his shout. Ron relaxed when he saw that it was just Harry.  
  
I think I know what happened this afternoon. Harry brandished his parchment at Ron, who looked blank.  
  
What're you talking bout, Harry? he asked, blurry from sleep still. He wiped a drip of cold water off his forehead.  
  
The ring, said Harry. It's evil.  
  
What else is new? Ron replied sarcastically.  
  
No, Ron, I mean it -- it's pure evil. There's a series of books, by this guy named Tolkien, called The Lord of the Rings -- it's all about the history of the ring, and the final destruction of the ring. But I don't think the ring was destroyed. I think it may have survived, and Krum may have sent it to Hermione.  
  
Ron perked up. I _knew_ we couldn't trust him, he said smugly. So when did all this happen? I mean, I've never heard of it in History of Magic class. Then again I was asleep through most of that... he muttered to himself.  
  
Harry hesitated, struggling to think of a way to make his case sound believable. Well -- er -- it's not -- the ring wasn't in our world. Tolkien was a Muggle. The books are fantasy novels, he finished lamely.  
  
Ron looked at Harry disbelievingly. Harry, you're going nutters. I think you need some sleep, maybe you won't be delusional in the morning...  
  
Ron, I'm serious! You're not listening to me! Harry was desperate. He _knew_ this was true. Ash nazg... no wizard would use a Muggle-invented phrase in such an elaborate joke, if it were even a joke, which it couldn't be because it had knocked Lupin out cold and it certainly wasn't funny. And that was just one reason out of hundreds.  
  
Ron, just give me five minutes, all right? Ron could tell Harry was desperate, so he nodded. It's like this, continued Harry in a rushed voice. In these books, Lord of the Rings, there's a place called Middle-earth, and a dark lord -- like Voldemort sort of, but a hundred thousand times worse -- named Sauron. There are a whole lot of things called Rings of Power -- three rings for the elven-kings under the sky; seven for the dwarf-lords in their halls of stone; nine for mortal men doomed to die, that's how a verse goes in it -- that the immortal elves forged when the world was new. But Sauron, right, he forged one ring for himself, the Ruling Ring, that was supposed to take all the other rings under its power and bend them to its will, which was total evil. Sauron wanted to conquer and destroy Middle-earth. But then this prince guy, Isildur, helps lead a huge battle against Sauron and cuts off his hand, Ring and all. Isildur keeps the Ring as an heirloom for his family to prove he defeated the dark lord, but the Ring has a mind of its own and betrays him later on, and gets lost for thousands of years, until this creature called Gollum finds it and takes it into his caves under some mountains or other. That's where a hobbit named Bilbo Baggins finds it --  
  
Hang on, slow down. A what named who?  
  
A hobbit. They're just small people, really. Big hairy feet, about three feet tall, but otherwise just like people. Humans, I mean. Men, Elves, dwarves and hobbits are the four main races in Middle-earth. They all look relatively human, but dwarves are short and stocky, and elves are really tall and thin and have pointy ears.  
  
Anyway, Bilbo finds the Ring and doesn't realize what it is. He keeps it for almost 60 years until he has to give it to his nephew Frodo Baggins. Sauron didn't die when Isildur fought him because the Ring wasn't destroyed, and Sauron and the Ring are actually one being since Sauron put so much of himself into the Ring when it was forged. I mean literally put himself in it. He mixed his blood with the molten gold and everything. Ron was listening intently, so Harry was encouraged to go on.  
  
Sauron woke up and was really ticked, so he started massing an army to restart the battle he'd lost all those years before. Meanwhile Frodo's got the Ring, and after a while Bilbo's old friend the wizard Gandalf turns up some old papers written by Isildur himself that prove that Frodo's ring is actually the One Ring. Frodo sets out from his little homeland of the Shire to Rivendell, one of the last places the Elves live. That's where he finds out that he's the Ringbearer and has to take the Ring to Mordor, Sauron's country, and throw the Ring in the fires where it was forged, because that's the only place it can be destroyed. The books are really all about Frodo's journey to Mordor and the destruction of the Ring... but I -- I don't know _how_, but I think that Hermione's ring _is_ the One Ring.  
  
Ron still looked skeptical. Prove it.  
  
Well, I looked at the Ring after Dumbledore came up this afternoon and there was writing on it -- looked like it was written in fire, really flowing letters and all that -- it was identical to the inscription in the books. It said the same thing and everything.  
  
Ron nodded when Harry paused for emphasis. Go on, prompted Ron. I haven't read the books or seen the ring up close. You need something better than that.  
  
Harry sighed and thought. The ring made Hermione go invisible. That's a given fact from the books -- the ring always makes its wearer invisible unless Sauron himself is wearing it.  
  
We don't know it was that ring as did that -- might have been Sirius.  
  
It was the _ring_, damn it, Ron, weren't you even listening? That string of Sirius's ought to have turned Hermione visible again but it didn't, and when Lupin ordered the magic to show its true nature that shadow passed over. I'd say that if this were really the One Ring, then Lupin's spell _worked_. It _did_ reveal its true nature. You haven't been able to get warm again since then, have you? It's because the ring is evil, I swear it. Harry was pacing now and growing increasingly frustrated.  
  
Ron hesitated as if doubtful. But he shook his head after a moment and said, Something else.  
  
That shadow this afternoon. It was whispering things, and I caught two words of it, _ash nazg_. Did you hear any of it?  
  
Yeah, ash-something, durba-something. That's all, though.  
  
_Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatuluk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul..._  
  
Even as Harry said the words, the final glowing embers of the fire went out completely and the room went cold. The shadow came searching, echoing Harry's words, until it passed a minute later and left Ron frozen stiff in his seat.  
  
Harry felt tiny. That's what the inscription on the Ring means, he said in a small voice. It's in Elvish on the Ring itself. In English it means _One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them; One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.'_  
  
Ron didn't seem to hear. He was shivering again.  
  
Finally he stood up, stiffly, as if he were waking from a dream. All right, Harry, he said tonelessly. I think I may believe you. But what're we supposed to do about it?  
  
I guess... destroy the Ring? Again? Harry was the doubtful one now.  
  
We find out how it got here first, said Ron. There's _got_ to be a reason. And how do you propose we go to this mountain of Sauron's to destroy the ring if it's in a country that doesn't exist? In a _world_ that doesn't exist?  
  
Maybe the world does exist, said Harry. ....I just don't know how.  
  
I dunno, Harry. I can't think this late at night. Ron seemed to be coming back to his senses and was turning back into his old self quite quickly. I need some sleep. But we have to talk to Hermione tomorrow.  
  
And Dumbledore, added Harry. I read the books, and I'm pretty sure I don't want to fight Sauron alone if it comes to that, or if that's even a possibility.  
  
Ron nodded gamely. Lupin, too. He's the one who did that spell on the Ring, so he's the one who should have heard the straightforward answer -- I've heard of those types of spells before. Everyone else only hears an echo of what the spellcaster hears. If he's woken up maybe he'll know something more about that shadow than we do.  
  
------------  
  
Harry couldn't sleep any more that night. With Ron's snores next door sounding louder than usual and the pale grey light of morning steadily growing in the windows, he only dozed off briefly around 4:30, but woke up again at 5:15.  
  
Feeling awful for lack of rest, he got up, dressed, and went downstairs long before anyone else in the castle was even awake. The ashes of the common room fire were still cold and black. The house-elves hadn't been around yet, then.  
  
He went on down to the Great Hall, careless of Filch catching him. The Hall was darker than the rest of the castle, with the only windows being small and near the ceiling. Harry felt too open and uncomfortable there, so he went out through the eastern door with the hospital wing vaguely in mind.  
  
He ought to have his Invisibility Cloak on, he thought mildly. Oh well.  
  
He came to the hospital wing door and found it unlocked. Opening it a tiny crack, he peered into the darkness inside. Shutters were closed over the windows, blocking out the little sunlight there was outside, and it was hard to see anything in the total gloom. But as his eyes adjusted, he could make out the shapes of beds and cabinets through the dimness; the curtains were drawn around two of the beds. Harry opened the door wider and tiptoed inside, careful not to make the slightest sound.  
  
He went over to one of the two beds and pulled aside the curtains a fraction. Hermione was there, looking much calmer in sleep. He hoped she'd be as calm when she woke up.  
  
Shutting the curtains again he went to the other bed, where he thought Lupin would be asleep -- but the professor didn't look very much like he was resting. When Harry looked behind the curtain he saw that Lupin was lying with his eyes wide open and unseeing. His mouth was moving, but no sound was coming out; Harry couldn't make any of it out from lip-reading because it seemed Lupin was speaking some other language. Hoping it wasn't permanent, Harry shut the curtains again and went out into the hall.  
  
He leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. This was _very_ weird. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous his theory sounded. He stood and rationalized to himself every single way that it was impossible -- which was quite a lot of ways. Not the least thought in his mind was If you're so smart and it _is_ the ring, then _how'd it get here_?'  
  
He wandered back across the castle to Gryffindor tower. He needed to find those books and have a good look at them. He vaguely thought he remembered bringing them with him to Hogwarts.  
  
Harry had first come across the books when he moved into Dudley's second bedroom in the summer before his first year at Hogwarts. Dudley's second bedroom was basically his storage room for all the old toys he had broken or destroyed. Everything in the room was unusable; and the only thing in the whole place that had never been touched was a shelf full of books. The first thing Harry had done was look over all the books, seeing as there was nothing else to do -- most of them were from when Dudley was little and his relatives had given him all kinds of My First So-and-so' books. Harry ignored those. Tucked away among the stupid toddler things were a few others -- some of which had been all right, but most of which had been awful. They were all about mundane things like school and evil little children treating their parents badly and such.  
  
_The Hobbit_ and _Lord of the Rings_ had been in a very expensive-looking hardcover boxed set. Harry expected someone had only gotten it for Dudley because it looked nice and had cost a lot rather than the fact that it was a book. If Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had taken the time to look at the books and see what they were about, they _certainly_ wouldn't have let them in the house.  
  
The books were brand-new and their fancy box still had the shrink-wrap plastic around it and everything. Harry had gotten the plastic off with some difficulty, because Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon wouldn't allow any sort of pointy or sharp object within four hundred yards of Harry, and he had been in the habit of chewing his fingernails off at the time, so he couldn't use those. Finally he managed to get it open and discovered that the books were really good -- although once he had found out he was a wizard he pretty much forgot about them, and when he did remember them, it was with a small amount of scorn, because he knew then that the magic in the books was all wrong.  
  
In fifth year he had absentmindedly packed the books in his trunk along with everything else, thinking he might reread them at some point to try and take his mind off Voldemort. It was the only reading for pleasure he'd done in his life to speak of, and it felt rather odd for him to be packing books along with his broom and Invisibility Cloak. But Voldemort had become too large a problem to ignore, and he hadn't done much reading at all that year unless it was studying up on advanced curses.  
  
Harry opened the door to the seventh years' room and went over to his trunk. Lifting the lid, he grimaced at the horrifying jumble of junk in it. Hermione would probably have a fit if she saw this. He hurriedly emptied out the first layer of stuff and dug through all Uncle Vernon's old socks to the bottom.  
  
Cursing at hitting his knuckle against the sock that still held his old Pocket Sneakoscope, he finally found what he was looking for. Unwedging the box from the corner where it rested under the weight of his Broom Servicing Kit, he threw everything else back in haphazardly and closed the lid. He took the books downstairs to the common room, sat in a chair by the empty fireplace, and shook them out of the box onto his lap.  
  
He set _The Hobbit_ aside -- a good read but not pertinent to what he needed to know. Instead he picked up the first book, _The Fellowship of the Ring_, and flipped through it quickly until he came to the bit where Gandalf came to Hobbiton to tell Frodo that he had the One Ring.  
  
_It was just at this time that Gandalf reappeared from his long absence_, Harry read. _For three years after the Party he had been away. Then he paid Frodo a brief visit..._ He wasn't quite there yet. Harry flipped the page.  
  
_Then suddenly his visits had ceased. It was over nine years since Frodo...  
_  
Next page.  
  
_In Eregion long ago many Elven-rings were made, magic rings as you call them, and they were, of course, of various kinds...  
_  
Next page.  
  
_How long have you know all this? asked Frodo again.  
_  
Two more pages, and --  
  
Hah. There it was. The inscription on the Ring... it was exactly like the words Harry had seen written on Hermione's ring yesterday, flowing Elvish script and everything. Underneath the illustration read the verse that the books had made famous in the Muggle world:  
  
_Three rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,  
Seven for the dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,  
Nine for mortal men doomed to die,  
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne  
In the Land of Mordor where Shadows lie.  
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,  
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them,  
In the Land of Mordor where Shadows lie.  
_  
Harry let out a long breath and looked into the cold ashes of the fireplace, then continued flipping through the pages, recognizing all the symptoms as he scanned over them. The words, _ash nazg_ and the rest, were in the chapter concerning the Council of Elrond in Rivendell. As Gandalf spoke the words on the page, there was the description of the shadow... the sun's light dimming, the emptiness pressing down. The words echoed again through Harry's mind. If he was right, they weren't going to be able to fight this.  
  
They needed to take the Ring back to Middle-earth, if that was possible. How, though? Well, he was a wizard, in a castle full of other wizards and witches, a lot of whom were very smart and very powerful. They'd figure it out eventually. Harry glanced out the window. It _had_ to be possible. Nothing else had been impossible around here before -- I mean, look at Voldemort, he thought. Everyone said Voldemort would be impossible to defeat, but we defeated him. By a long shot.  
  
An hour passed before he knew it, he was so caught up in scanning over his books. He realized as the first few second-year girls started stumbling down the stairs and out the portrait hole to breakfast that he was starving. His stomach gave an almighty rumble right then as if to emphasize the point. He dashed upstairs and threw the books on his bed, then went down to the Great Hall along with everyone else.  
  
-------------  
  
I think it's hospital wing time, said Ron to Harry after lunch. The redhead hadn't forgotten their middle-of-the-night talk, which Harry was thankful for -- sometimes Ron could be very good at that selective-memory thing.  
  
Harry nodded. They had agreed to wait and see Hermione and Lupin in the early afternoon because that was when Madam Pomfrey was usually the least frazzled and the most hospitable (no pun intended).  
  
They walked quickly up stairs, through hidden passageways, and down an endless abundance of corridors until they came to the hospital wing. Really, Harry thought, they ought to make it easier to get from one end of the castle to the other. That's where that whole hour went this morning, I'd bet money. It was just wandering around the halls.  
  
Madam Pomfrey looked disapprovingly at them as they came in, but didn't voice her opinion about visitors, which was just as well. Instead she said, Miss Granger is awake. I'm afraid you can't see Professor Lupin for a while.  
  
By for a while,' Harry thought Madam Pomfrey looked like she meant something more along the lines of, until he wakes up, which might be never at this rate, so you ought not even bother coming in here, *hint.*'  
  
Hermione had heard Madam Pomfrey's remark. Ron? Harry? she said from her bed. There was some rustling and her covers were drawn back. She looked perfectly fine now, though very tired. Her voice was small.  
  
Harry and Ron took seats by her bed, preparing for a very long explanation. Ron shot a defiant glance at Madam Pomfrey.  
  
After maybe half an hour, during which Hermione listened without a word of interruption or any sort of reaction at all, Harry came to a halt in his talking. He'd gone into a bit more detail about the history of the ring this time, so Ron hadn't broken in with much commentary. When he finished all she did was nod.  
  
asked Ron of Hermione momentarily.  
  
Well what? she replied, looking unblinkingly at him with tired eyes. He shifted in his seat and pretended to be very occupied with Harry's reaction.  
  
Well, what do you say? said Harry. I mean, it's not the most believable of theories, but I thought it fits pretty well, and --  
  
I believe you, said Hermione in the same quiet voice, interrupting him.  
  
  
  
There was a bit of a pause.  
  
Then Ron said, What the hell _are_ we talking about? We are the strangest group of people I have ever known, I swear.  
  
Harry grinned and Hermione burst into giggles. said Ron indignantly. Well, we _are_. I'll bet you ten Sickles there's not another person in this entire castle who'll think we're even vaguely sane after they hear _this_ bit of rubbish. Despite his words, Harry could tell Ron didn't really think the explanation was rubbish.  
  
You're on, said Harry, fighting laughter. Then, sobering up suddenly, he added, I think... I think Professor Lupin will believe us. If he ever wakes up.  
  
The grins vanished instantly from Ron's and Hermione's faces.  
  
D'you think we could just have a look at him? said Hermione worriedly. I know he's not awake and he can't talk, but --  
  
I came by really early this morning, said Harry. You were asleep still, but... he, er... wasn't. I don't know what's up. It looked like a... trance or something.  
  
Ron lurched to his feet at Harry's words and silently slipped over to Lupin's bedside, taking cover behind the curtains just as Madam Pomfrey turned around; she just missed seeing him. Harry half-turned in his chair and mouthed to Ron, asking what he was doing.  
  
Ron gestured at Harry to give him a minute, then found the divide in Lupin's curtains and peered in at the incapacitated professor.  
  
A moment later, Harry saw Ron pull his wand out and bring his wand-hand up inside the curtains along with his head, well-hidden from Madam Pomfrey. Harry was startled and, without thinking, stood up and dashed over to Ron. What do you think you're doing? he asked in a vehement hissing whisper.  
  
Ron glared at him and brushed him off. This one's bad. I think I can get him out of it.  
  
What the --? Ron, at least get per_mission_, or, or _something_ -- what --? Harry broke off from his unintentional Hermione imitation to stare at Ron's strange doings.  
  
Ron pulled Lupin's covers down enough that his chest was exposed. Then, as if he were standing a toothpick on end or balancing the final card on a game of Exploding Snap, he set his wand in mid-air, pointing straight at Lupin's heart. He lightly shoved Harry to make him get back, never once losing his painfully concentrated expression. It looked as though his mind hurt just from the sheer will of doing magic without a wand to channel it.  
  
He muttered a phrase Harry couldn't hear, then whetted the index and middle fingers of each hand with his tongue and bent over Lupin, carefully avoiding the wand, which was starting to spin slowly in midair.  
  
Harry stared, completely caught by surprise at this sudden, unexpected show of extremely advanced magical skills.  
  
Ron placed his fingertips slowly on Lupin's temples -- though it wasn't a careful sort of slowness, it was more as if his fingers and Lupin's head were repelling magnets. A drop of sweat fell off the end of Ron's nose onto Lupin's cheek, and the Weasley boy had his tongue stuck out between his teeth, biting hard in concentration.  
  
Then the fingers made contact with the skin of Lupin's forehead....  
  
...and Harry fell backwards into Hermione with the force of the blow that followed. Hermione had apparently gotten out of bed and had been standing behind Harry, watching, but they both toppled to the floor in a heap when the shock wave came. Whatever Ron had done, it was really hard and dangerous magic, and Madam Pomfrey came running, along with just about everyone else in the castle -- or at least everyone else on that floor.  
  
To Harry's immense surprise, when the shock had passed, both Ron and Lupin were still in their same positions. For a moment Harry thought Ron's spell hadn't worked; but then he realized that, even if it wasn't what he had expected, _something_ was happening. Lupin, Ron, and the air for six feet around them was filled with static. Harry imagined that if there were carpet here and you shuffled across it in your socks, the shock touching any sort of doorknob would give you would be fatal. Ron's hair was standing on end and his woolen sweater fairly sparked with electricity. Harry fancied he could see blue miniatures of his trademark lightning-bolt dancing all over the maroon material.  
  
Then Ron opened his mouth and spoke, but his voice was so crackly through the multitude of sparks his breath was exchanging with the air that Harry couldn't really make out what he was saying.  
  
However, it seemed to awaken Lupin somehow in that he suddenly started shouting something that was rather muffled by the heavy magic at work, but was still recognizable as words -- though _what_ words, Harry couldn't say, because it seemed to be in some other language. An evil language, much like the one Harry had spoken in when he uttered the words _ash nazg_...  
  
How long the muffled shouting went on was hard to tell; maybe a quarter of an hour, maybe only 5 minutes or so. But Harry was certainly relieved when it ended.  
  
Madam Pomfrey stood outside the area of the static and looked the most absolutely furious Harry had ever seen her. Several people had gathered in the doorway to see what it was all about, and Harry and Hermione had picked themselves up and were standing watching incredulously as Ron endured the strongest spell he had ever performed, at least as far as Harry knew of -- and Harry thought he'd probably know if Ron had ever done anything stronger: the whole castle would have been knocked down, or worse.  
  
Still, for all Madam Pomfrey's expression, she didn't say a word; neither did anyone else except Lupin, who just went on shouting hoarsely, his voice as crackly as Ron's through the static magic. No one wanted to risk breaking Ron's concentration.  
  
Harry began to wonder why Ron was doing this. Did he feel he had to prove himself for some reason Harry couldn't fathom? Harry knew Ron well enough to know that even though Ron showed a repeating trait of bad judgment, he wasn't dumb enough to try something that he knew was this big and dangerous without even asking permission, or letting someone more capable do it. And Madam Pomfrey had made no indication that she was going to even attempt to do anything about Lupin's condition for at least a while, except wait and watch and see if he recovered. Ron _had_ to know better than this... didn't he?  
  
Harry's train of thought broke off when Lupin stopped shouting; his voice fading and tapered off into silence, and Ron said something more -- apparently an incantation to cease the spell.  
  
The cloud of free-floating electricity around them made a bang as it suddenly went out in all directions in a huge, wide circle. Looks kinda like an atom bomb going off, Harry thought vaguely, as he was knocked back into Hermione again. Only without the mushroom cap. Lupin had given a final, perfectly audible scream as all the battling powers left him at last.  
  
Then it was all over. As the magic dissipated, people picked themselves up and stared in wonder and shock and, mostly, anger at Ron and Lupin. Several were also glaring at Harry and Hermione, as if they had put their friend up to it. Sirius had fought his way to the front of the crowd and stood just inside the doorway, unable to do anything but stare with wide eyes that held such an odd jumble of emotions that Harry couldn't have told what his thoughts were even if he had wanted to. Madam Pomfrey was positively purple with rage, and growing angrier by the second, if that was even possible; she looked like she might start steaming at the ears, or explode, at any moment.  
  
Giddy with power, Ron grinned stupidly at all of them and muttered, Then he fainted.  
  
People started coming back to their senses as Madam Pomfrey walked forward, stepped over Ron, and examined Lupin. After checking his pulse and opening his eyelids to peer at the dilation, she turned again, glared at Harry and Hermione with fresh fury, and said in such a sinister voice that the two knew they'd be having absolutely no more free time for the rest of their stay at Hogwarts (which they were suddenly glad, for the first time, was almost over), Your friend has cured him. I hope you're happy.  
  
After that she left Ron lying in the floor (though she did point at an empty bed with a pudgy, menacing finger to indicate that they should move him there) and went back into her workroom. They heard the loud clang as she set a cauldron upright for use, taking her anger out on her equipment; and they both winced and jumped.  
  
Sirius and Lupin woke up at the exact same moment. Sirius shook his head, clearing his mind: he looked at the room again and decided that he was still hallucinating things, so he rubbed his eyes instead. At the same time Lupin stirred and groaned, putting a heavy hand to his forehead where Ron had touched him. He tried to sit up, and quickly came to the conclusion that only someone who wanted to go straight back into a coma would try sitting up, so he laid back down.  
  
Sirius, apparently deciding he wasn't having some strange, twisted dream after all, went over to Lupin's bedside while Harry and Hermione struggled to pick up their soundly snoring friend, whose hair looked like it had just come out of a lightning storm within an inch of its life. When they'd gotten him laid out on an empty bed, Hermione tried to pat it down, but it simply would not cooperate with her. She gave up. She could hear a fire crackling in Madam Pomfrey's workroom, and something frothing violently. With several worried, slightly guilty glances around her, Hermione tiptoed back to her own bed and laid down as innocently as she could.  
  
Harry was already back at Lupin's bedside with Sirius. Lupin himself was just staring at the ceiling, apparently trying to work out what had happened in his slightly fried mind. Sirius was looking over him worriedly, checking everything from the bandages on the gash on his head to the frizzled hair that suddenly seemed to have quite a bit more gray in it. Harry couldn't bring himself to tap Sirius on the shoulder or get his attention in any way, but rather just stood there behind his godfather and looked at Lupin with an expression that clearly said he'd really like to be interested, but that his mind was currently filled to overflowing and what he was really trying to do was to dam some of it up. He stole occasional glances over at Ron's bed instead, wondering more than ever what had gotten into his friend.  
  
As people were beginning to filter out of the room, Sirius finally noticed that someone was standing behind him. He turned around and saw Harry with his face screwed up slightly, trying to reason out the events of the past two days.  
  
Harry noticed Sirius' look, and gave his godfather a return expression that said, Don't look at _me_. I don't know what got into Ron, Harry said in a low voice. I didn't tell him to do that -- it seemed like he knew what he was doing.  
  
Sirius opened his mouth with an expression of mixed annoyance and relief, but was cut off by a tired rasp from the bed. He was right, said Lupin hoarsely, coughing slightly to clear his throat. That was the only spell applicable. Whatever had hold of me was degenerative -- I wouldn't have woken up otherwise. Madam Pomfrey must not have realized. He coughed again.  
  
What was it? asked Sirius, puzzled. I came to see you yesterday afternoon, he added quickly, and it looked like a possession to me, not serious.  
  
A possession had nothing to do with demons, as Muggles would think -- in wizards' terms, a possession occurred when a spell or the effects of a spell overpowered the spellcaster's mind and temporarily rendered them, to all outward appearances, retarded or incapacitated in some way. This only happened with really big magicks: it was more of a side effect than an individual affliction.  
  
Lupin shook his head with some difficulty. If it were a possession I would have come out of it within fourteen hours or so. They don't last that long, he said, losing his voice momentarily; it came out as a whisper. After coughing again he said in a more normal tone, A holding spell is the same. It's used by captors mainly and has to be renewed every twelve hours. The only other spell with the possibility of similar effects is the one I performed.  
  
Well, I wasn't there, what did you do? Sirius was becoming vaguely frustrated by Remus' ineffably cryptive way of speaking.  
  
Lupin hesitated, then said simply, Revalium Incantatem. He gave Sirius a look that Harry couldn't decipher. Harry looked from one to the other, curious and confused.  
  
The slight pink tinge of anger flushed through Sirius' cheeks and he sputtered before coming up with something suitably scathing to say.  
  
Why -- you -- you -- idiot! You bloody _idiot_! I thought -- after -- you'd have more _sense_ --  
  
Lupin waited for Sirius to run out of steam, expressionless.  
  
It was just invisibility! Sirius finished. You could have done something a little more... innocent... than -- _that_.  
  
Lupin closed his eyes. I don't know why it came to me, Padfoot. Perhaps I had a feeling that nothing more innocent' would do the job. I don't know why I suspected anything more than a petty invisibility spell, but there you have it. Intuition or some such.  
  
Sirius was silent for a moment. he said finally, putting some obvious effort into sounding reasonable, I felt that... that darkness pass as plain as anyone else did. I suppose you're right. Still, I wish you'd thought a little harder before you did it again so casually. What happened this time?  
  
Harry longed to know the history behind this exchange, but he held his tongue and impatience in check and listened instead, though he only half-understood the conversation.  
  
--ot sure, Lupin was saying.  
  
What d'you mean, you're not sure what happened? You were so positive it wasn't a possession a minute ago, and you said perfectly clearly that it was progressive. I thought women were supposed to have great intuitions like that, not werewolves. You can't tell me you just knew it somehow.' Sirius had given up trying to sound at all calm. Apparently whatever Revalium Incantatem was, he was had a serious grudge against it.  
  
said Lupin, looking a mixture of apprehensive and deflated. Well -- I did -- just know it. Somehow.  
  
Sirius glared, and chose that moment to sit down heavily in the only chair next to Lupin's bed. Deprived of his cover behind Sirius's back, Harry found himself standing right in front of Lupin, who looked at him as if he hadn't noticed he was there before.  
  
Harry fidgeted and tried to pretend he hadn't been listening.  
  
Hello, Harry, said Lupin smoothly; Is Ron all right?  
  
Er -- yes, said Harry, as always left stranded by Lupin's behavior.  
  
I'm glad to hear _that_, Lupin said with feeling, and his face did in fact seem to relax somewhat. He put his hands to his face and took a deep breath, then decided it was finally time to sit up. He levered himself up gently and straightened his pillows behind his back before sinking back into them.  
  
Sirius didn't look up. You shouldn't do that, he said wearily, as if from years of experience.  
  
Keeps the blood from going to my head, said Lupin matter-of-factly, folding his hands behind the nape of his neck and stretching it until Harry heard the faint crackling of a bone. I feel I need to have a talk with Dumbledore, and soon. I expect what we're dealing with is some remnant from Voldemort's bag of tricks, and I'd like to know what's been going on while I was out of it.  
  
said Sirius, muffled, as he had just put his face in his hands and his elbows on his knees. Nothing's been going on. Dumbledore's got the ring hidden away somewhere and I don't know --  
  
repeated Lupin, puzzled.  
  
Hermione's ring. Some present from Krum. It's possessed by demons or something, Dumbledore was being vague when I asked him.  
  
Lupin opened his mouth to say something, and Harry was preparing to clear his throat for their attention so he could tell them his theory, when Madam Pomfrey came out of her workroom carrying two steaming goblets and a vial. She clunked one of the cups down on Lupin's bedside table and told him to drink up. Then she walked over to Ron, unstoppered the vial and waved it under his nose.  
  
His face twitched once with one breath, but on the second inhalation Madam Pomfrey was forced to withdraw fast else she be knocked over by the suddenly wide-awake Weasley. He sat bolt upright, his hair hardly settled at all, and his hand shot out to clutch at the thing nearest to him -- the bedside table. Upon whacking his knuckles on the innocent oak boards, he seemed to come to his senses and focused on the nurse standing in front of him rather than some distant point in space that no one else could see. He squinted, blinked several times, and shook his head.  
  
I don't feel so good, he muttered, putting his head in his hands. Harry could imagine how he felt -- he'd been knocked out by magic overload quite often over the past two or three years. It tended to feel like your head had somehow turned into jelly molded in your image. Your brain was the consistency of runny oatmeal and you always wondered why it didn't start leaking out of your ears at any moment; but then you'd remember your eardrums holding it in, and that thought was usually accompanied by the sudden inexplicable feeling that there _was_ something like runny oatmeal pressing up against the inside of the membrane.  
  
Ron put a hand to his ear at that moment, proving Harry's thought.  
  
Drink it all, said Madam Pomfrey harshly, apparently not willing to forgive the boy just yet, and no complaints. I don't want to hear a word out of you until you're well, and hopefully not after, either.  
  
Ron looked nervously at her glowering face at nodded.  
  
Harry thought she was done, but instead she went over and tapped Hermione on the shoulder, making the girl jump. Pomfrey looked her over briefly, and declared that she was fine. Hermione was ushered out of bed again and the nurse pulled the curtains shut, saving the changing of sheets for the house-elves.  
  
Walking back to her office, she pointed severely to Ron's untouched goblet and said, Drink it, in a voice that no sane man would ever try and deny. Ron gave her another nervous glance and quickly picked up the goblet and sniffed its contents.  
  
When Madam Pomfrey was safely out of earshot in her office, Ron made a gagging noise and put the goblet down again. I'd rather go on like this than put _that_ in me, he muttered, shaking his head.  
  
Do what she says, Ron, said Lupin from across the room. And be thankful you don't have the experience every month.  
  
Ron looked up, startled, and grinned. he said exuberantly, then put his head down again because it hurt. It worked, he added, somewhat muffled.  
  
Hermione, standing by Ron's bed, put the goblet back in hands and slapped him on the back of the head. He jerked and looked at her, annoyed: Well, it did! And I reckon no one else would have thought of it!  
  
Probably not, but it was dangerous and you could have gotten yourself killed, said Hermione roughly.  
  
What was it, anyway? said Harry, who barely understood any of what everyone was talking about today.  
  
A spell of release, said Hermione, ignoring Ron, who had opened his mouth with a proud expression, most likely about to tell some elaborate tale about how he'd learned it from the Department of Mysteries or something. He looked daggers at Hermione. It breaks a spell's hold like you'd break the fingers of a grindylow. It's for use on really strong spells for conjuring progressive or terminal diseases, or for breaking particularly strong possessions... it's like a stronger version of Finite Incantatem.  
  
Lupin was smiling wryly. Very good, Hermione. Right again. James could perform a release spell by fourth year, though I have to say he never had to do one of this magnitude.  
  
Y'know, I really wish someone would start making some sense today, said Harry, Lupin's last statement being the final straw for the 17-year-old. Okay, so Ron did a release thing or whatever -- on what? And how'd you know how to do one -- here Harry glared at Ron, -- and why'd you try it first thing? Answer those for starters. Harry was not in the best of moods.  
  
I thought you already knew what had him! Ron was struggling to sit up straighter, taking offense to Harry's tone. I actually believed you this time, which I _thought_ you'd be glad to hear, and you did _say_ it was too big for us to fight! So I thought I'd just _start_ with the biggest spell, and if that didn't work then we could go on to Dumbledore.  
  
Why didn't you go _straight_ to Dumbledore? began Hermione angrily, but Sirius interrupted the building argument with a loud and clear order of,   
  
Hermione, Harry and Ron shut up.  
  
All right -- what's this about Harry knowing something, first of all, and then we can get on to sorting out the details. Harry? said Sirius, his eyes gone somewhat deadened again, as they usually did when he got in a bad mood. Harry could tell that Revalium Incantatem was still fresh in his mind, and he didn't like to listen to other people bicker at the same time. Ron pretended to be very interested in his goblet of potion, wincing as he gulped it down, and Hermione fidgeted.  
  
Harry would have liked to be very interested in his feet, but as Lupin and Sirius were both looking at him, he was forced to take a deep breath and go over his whole tale again. By this time it was seeming a bit ridiculous even to him. It must have been a side effect of repeating the story too often.  
  
Sirius's expression was that of utter disbelief, but Lupin, as usual, was harder to read. He watched Harry intently, still fingering his empty goblet and making the boy nervous.  
  
When he'd finished, Lupin cut off Sirius's most likely condescending statement with a calm, Interesting theory, Harry. But Hermione is right, I'm afraid; you really should have gone straight to Dumbledore. You have been in something of a habit of keeping all your rule-breaking activities of the last six years a secret from the staff, but you ought to start breaking that habit now.  
  
Harry couldn't think of a reply quick enough, and Sirius gave Lupin a look of annoyance and disbelief. _You're_ not going to go believing all this now, are you?  
  
I believe I have a bit more authority in the matter than you, Sirius, who have not been under the influence of the -- ring's -- power for the past day, snapped Lupin. Harry started at the tone. Maybe this Revalium Incantatem business was a bit too much for those two... Harry really wished he could think of a way to separate them until Sirius could cool down...  
  
Seems to me James shouldn't have taken that mistrust spell off us in fourth year, said Sirius icily, standing up. It wouldn't have made much difference, as apparently I can't trust you anyway. And we always thought you were the _sensible_ one, he finished contemptuously, and strode out of the hospital wing, closing the door rather loudly and making everyone but Lupin jump.  
  
There was silence for a long moment. It was a bit of a mixed blessing to Harry that his wish had been granted without his having to do anything.  
  
Finally, Lupin said, Well, then. You never could trust his temper. Harry, perhaps you should go on to Dumbledore? He looked pointedly at Harry.  
  
Er-- all right. Er. Hermione? Harry wanted very much to get away. From his expression, Ron did too, but Harry looked at him apologetically and gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. Ron glared briefly, gave up, shrugged, and laid down as quietly as possible.  
  
Lupin did not watch Harry and Hermione leave; he was too enveloped in his own thoughts. When they got into the hall and the door was safely shut behind them, Harry breathed a sigh of relief and turned immediately down the hall towards Gryffindor tower.  
  
Hermione noticed this. She had been turning to go the other direction, towards a fork in the corridor, the left-hand side of which would eventually take them to Dumbledore's office. she called, turning and looking at him, perplexed.  
  
He glanced over his shoulder. I'm going to go to Dumbledore, he said by way of reassurance, just not this second.  
  
Well, where _are_ you going? she said, jogging to catch up with him. She was frowning, not an uncommon expression for her.  
  
I'm going to find Sirius, said Harry firmly, and see what that was all about.  
--------------


	5. Revalium Incantatem

A/N: GARRR!!! Well, people, welcome to about the 18th attempt at posting this chapter. FF.N's login screen wouldn't show up for about a week (on my computer at least), so I couldn't get in to upload. And even before _that_ difficulty: my policy on posting stories-in-progress is to never post the last chapter I've got finished.... which means chpt. 5 has been done for a long time but it was chpt. 6 that just didn't want to come out. Then _Kyriel_ (*smacks Kyriel*), my conceited alter ego, decided she wanted me to write HER story instead of Let Others Follow; HER story being a 7-book epic! Besides the fact that I've been having to read A Tale of Two Cities for school, and while being a very good book, it also takes a while to translate the convoluted sentences as you read, besides the fact that I have never spoken a word of French in my life except for Eh, toi! Joues-nous du Skynyrd!, a phrase which my Dad taught me for unknown reasons (and yeah, I know what it means, I just don't know why he taught me it), and half the book takes place in Paris and other bits of France.  
  
....in other words, the world conspired against me and it's been a prehistoric age since the last posting, but I HOPE -- I can't promise anything, but I HOPE -- that this won't happen again.  
  
Okay. Done ranting. Signing out,  
-Raven, a VERY tired human being who is fast developing an inexplicable crush on Sydney Carton. Don't ask me why. I think I need therapy.  
------------  
  
Chapter Five: Revalium Incantatem  
  
Sirius was not in the Gryffindor common room. Harry checked his dorm, where Sirius sometimes went to plant jokes or simply stare out the window, and, Harry, assumed, reminisce on the past -- but his godfather wasn't there, either. The past was a place Sirius had spent quite long enough in by now, Harry thought to himself in a muddled way.  
  
His thoughts were muddled for all the obvious reasons -- the ring, the mysterious spell of revelation that had produced a spontaneous rift between Sirius and his best friend, and where the _hell_ Ron had learned how to do a release spell that powerful. For starters, anyway. That was just what Harry could come up with when he scraped the surface.  
  
Hermione and Harry walked on in silence, checking in every place Sirius might possibly be. The Great Hall was empty, and the Owlery showed no signs of human life, only large round owl-eyes blinking at them from every direction and a soft hooting filling the air.  
  
Do you know where his room is? asked Hermione after a quarter of an hour of walking and peeking around door-frames.  
  
replied Harry. Now that he thought about it, he didn't. Sirius usually just turned up out of nowhere when he came to visit, and never mentioned a room or seemed to carry any luggage. Harry had almost forgotten that Sirius slept: he always seemed to be up and about at all hours of the night and day, pulling practical jokes on people or talking with Lupin or Dumbledore.  
  
Harry added.  
  
Well, you know where Professor Lupin's room is in the staff quarters, right? she went on briskly.  
  
Well, yeah, but --  
  
We can go there first and get Lupin's copy of the Marauder's Map. That'll save the trouble of scouring the whole castle.  
  
Harry nodded, wishing he'd thought of that. Hermione was always great to have around when you needed some thinking done and your own brain wasn't functioning properly.  
  
They walked to the staff wing, which was a bit more guarded against entry than anywhere else in the castle. Harry muttered a few well-spoken words in the uninterested tone of a long-time expert, and they were inside immediately.  
  
Lupin's suite of rooms was down the second corridor to the left, through the fourth door on the right side of the hall. Harry had memorized it long ago. Lupin's guarding charms were far more complex than anyone else's, and almost impossible to break since he had invented them all himself.  
  
Still, Harry knew what to do. Lupin had told him the code, in case of any emergencies. This had been said with another of Lupin's customary wry smiles, so Harry thought he knew what sort of emergencies; but he hadn't come across much need to go in here before.  
  
It was exactly the same as it had been the last time he'd come in, sometime around Halloween last year. The front room was neat and clean and the mantelpiece held several photos of the four Marauders and Harry's mother when they were students at Hogwarts. Only two new pictures had showed up in the last year: one of Harry, Ron, and Hermione and another of Sirius, both very recent. Sirius smiled and waved and then proceeded to duck as something flew past his head. Harry remembered when Colin Creevey had captured that moment on film. Seamus Finnigan's mother had come along with a great deal of other parents to see her child safe and sound right after the defeat of Voldemort, and for some reason that Harry assumed could be safely attributed to Sirius's past years as a prankster, had begun throwing dishes at him after they had exchanged a few words. Colin had been standing a few feet away with his nervous-looking father and ever-present camera in tow.  
  
Harry snorted when he saw the picture, recalling the interesting mix of hyper children excited about winning the war and hyper parents excited about not being dead who had filled the castle for that week or so last May.  
  
You take the bedroom, I'll take the study, said Harry, used to this sort of methodical behavior when breaking into other people's rooms without permission.  
  
Hermione sighed, then gave up, as she had suggested coming in the first place. She walked off into one of the adjoining rooms and Harry heard a drawer being pulled open on the bedside table.  
  
He went into the study, looked over the top of the desk and found nothing but neatly laid out inkwells and quills. One of the two drawers down the left side of the desk contained nothing but a very large stack of blank parchment. The other, however, was more interesting.  
  
Harry rifled through what seemed like a hundred or more letters and disembodied pages of something that looked like it once may have been in some vague sort of order. Harry was surprised at this one pocket of complete mess, where the rest of the place was perfectly tidy. He shuffled through the top of the pile of pages again, thinking it ought to be somewhere near the top if it was in here, because Lupin had had it with him only yesterday...  
  
Only yesterday! Harry slapped himself mentally. How stupid could he get? Lupin had never come back to his rooms since yesterday, so he must still have the Map with him, or Madam Pomfrey or Dumbledore had confiscated it...  
  
came Hermione's voice from the other room. Harry closed the drawer and met her in the doorway to the bedroom. She was holding a piece of parchment.  
  
Found one, she said. There's a whole stack of them in there -- he must have taken out all the reserve copies when he found them.  
  
Oh, thought Harry. All right then. He felt somewhat deflated.  
  
he said in a semi-enthusiastic tone. Now there's just to find Sirius...  
  
They pored over the Map, Hermione holding it between them so they could both see clearly.  
  
she said suddenly. Look, out here... She pointed to a spot near the edge of the Map, somewhere on the grounds. Harry blinked, surprised, and looked where she indicated.  
  
There, sure enough, was a small dot labeled with minuscule writing: _Sirius Black_.  
  
What's he doing in the forest? asked Hermione of no one in a perplexed tone.  
  
Let's go, said Harry, starting towards the door.  
  
They spent another fifteen minutes getting out of the staff wing, relocking it with the proper charms, getting down to the first floor and finding their way to the entrance hall. Again Harry found himself wondering why the architects had seen fit to make the place so dratted _big_. The grounds were easier to navigate, thankfully, but it was not such good fortune that the small black dot that was Sirius kept moving away from them. Eventually they came so far around the castle that it would have been faster to get to him by walking the opposite direction from where they had started.  
  
This is useless, Harry, said Hermione grouchily. Her feet were getting sore and they had been walking for an hour an a half since they had left the hospital wing.  
  
Come on. Wait until we come to the front door again, if we haven't caught up to him. He'll either go round in another circle or we can catch him in the entrance hall.  
  
If he tries going around again, I give up, she muttered. I'm hungry.  
  
Harry had to agree with this sentiment, but he did so silently, and they pressed on.  
  
To their great luck (or not, as they had had to go to so much trouble to get to this point), Sirius slowed down to a meandering stroll a few hundred yards from Hagrid's hut. Harry and Hermione, though slowed slightly by sore feet and empty stomachs, continued at their regular pace and caught up with him eventually.  
  
They were within distant sight of Hagrid's vegetable garden (which was looking, oddly enough, to be in full season, though it was the middle of winter -- Harry suspected some more illegal magic on Hagrid's part) when Hermione caught glimpse of a bit of black fabric hanging from within the higher branches of an old oak tree on the fringes of the Forbidden Forest. Harry looked up and agreed with her thought that it looked suspiciously like the tail corner of a robe.  
  
Harry quietly stepped up under the branches of the tree, which, he noted, started near the ground, making for easy climbing, and looked up. He could make out a human form sitting in the notch where two large branches diverged from the trunk, hidden among the shadows cast by the leaves. Harry only noticed it when a gust of breeze ruffled the branches and a piece of dappled sunlight edged its way through.  
  
Harry hesitated, wondering, suddenly, how to go about this. But he didn't wonder for long, because the same bit of light that had illuminated Sirius's face had also given Harry away.  
  
said Sirius, more than a little startled to see him at the foot of the tree. He snatched at the branch above himself to keep from falling.  
  
Hermione heard him and edged up under the tree as well. Harry had already set his foot in the first available notch between branch and trunk and was climbing up without too much trouble. Hermione followed a bit more reluctantly. Sirius watched them without moving. Harry's eyes had grown accustomed to the dimness and he could make out the glint of Sirius's eyes and the gray outline of his face and relaxing form.  
  
Somewhat grudgingly, Harry took the seat nearest him, between a smallish branch and a larger one that looked more like a division of the trunk. Hermione cramped herself into the most uncomfortable of all the available spots, between the heights of Harry and Sirius but on the other side of the trunk. She had to sit facing the trunk rather than away, and lean all the way around it, just in order to see the two of them.  
  
Harry heard her mutter under her breath, being nearer to her than Sirius; Three old crows we'll be up here in the shadows. Oh, I don't _like_ climbing. She settled herself more comfortably, if you could call it that.  
  
How'd you find me? said Sirius resignedly.  
  
Lupin had some more copies of the Map in his room, said Harry, deciding to ignore all formalities and be perfectly blunt.  
  
said Sirius, not sounding at all surprised. Have you come to push your theory' on me or something else?  
  
What is Revalium Incantatem, said Harry deliberately, and it only vaguely sounded like a question. Everything you know. We haven't looked for you for two hours to get turned down.  
  
Sirius nodded in the dark, as if this were expected.  
  
You've got James's curiosity, Remus's stubbornness and my sense of tact, he said, although this did not get a laugh from anyone present. All right, then. From the beginning... it was sixth year, we'd just done advanced Charms, including a milder form of Revalium. Remus was always the bookworm, so he looked up Revalium even though Flitwick told us specifically not to... Remus had to trick a signature out of Professor Marlow, the Potions teacher, to get into the Restricted Section for the book it was in. James was the only one of us who really worried about him -- and Lily, but she worried about all of us constantly... We thought he was doing it on a dare from the Slytherins or something until he actually went out one night, pretty soon after the full moon, and did the spell on the Whomping Willow.  
  
Hermione choked audibly. Harry peered at her through the gloom, which his eyes had accepted as far as they were ever going to, and it seemed to him that she had gone somewhat paler than usual.  
  
But that -- didn't he know what they _are_? Hermione couldn't help but burst out.  
  
said Sirius, leaning against the trunk.  
  
Exactly what? Harry was not in the mood for more veiled exchanges like these -- if anyone made another veiled exchange today, he would more than likely feel the sudden urge to throttle them.  
  
Harry, Whomping Willows were bred by Dark wizards to plant in woods near villages particularly full of children, said Sirius, in a listen-to-me-now-or-never-and-I-won't-stand-for-any-interruptions' sort of tone. The kids would go out and play in the trees, not knowing any better, and in those days the trees were far more aggressive -- grown to kill without mercy, not just drive people off. Dozens of kids were killed before their parents figured it out and warned them away, and no one could get near to chop down the trees without being maimed or killed themselves. They were some of the most deadly weapons the Dark side had. They were around long before Voldemort -- before Grindelwald, even. We'd tamed them by then. Someone finally figured out the trick of the freezing knot (all the trees had them; the Dark wizards had to have a way to get near the trees when they planted them), and the Department of Magical Agriculture was able to study them. They were all cut down or destroyed, except for a dozen or so of the weakest ones. Since then they've been cross-bred with regular willows, and they're not so dangerous any more. The one right out there on the grounds is one of the strongest left in the world. Dumbledore would have no less when he agreed to take on Remus at school... he wanted the boy to be able to come to Hogwarts, but he also wanted every possible precaution taken...  
  
Sirius shook his head again, shifted his weight and folded his arms. Harry waited.  
  
After several minutes, Sirius spoke up again.  
  
Like I said, Remus did Revalium on the Willow. You know how strong Revalium is, from -- from that -- shadow-thing the other day. Revalium releases the nature of a magical object in the deepest core of its being, brings it to life, makes it tangible if it can. The shadow was as tangible as it got on the ring, I suppose. The tree.... well, the tree... it was it's being the strongest of them, I think, that really made it so awful. It had a closer link to its ancestors than most Willows of its lineage. Revalium made it evil again, reverted its nature all the way back down to the Dark wizards' original purpose in creating it; to kill people.  
  
Harry was trying very hard to imagine this and had begun thinking very strongly along the same lines as Sirius and Hermione about Lupin's behavior. How could he have been so stupid as to do that?  
  
But it didn't kill Professor Lupin, Harry said finally, as Sirius was lost in thought again and wasn't speaking.  
  
Hum? Oh, no, it didn't. It wasn't an original, just a tree with the mind of an original. It didn't have the strength to kill a werewolf; that's very hard, you know. It would have turned anyone else into something hardly recognizable as human, I shouldn't wonder. Sirius was only half-listening to himself. It did beat him to a bloody pulp, though, he went on quietly, wrapped up in his own head; Knocked him out, whaled on him a bit. It thought he was dead, so it did the customary thing all the original trees did with bodies, and picked him up and threw him as far as it could. The breeders' thought was probably to make sure that the villagers found the bodies of the children and were able to see them perfectly clearly. They liked that sort of anguish, I think. Make people suffer more... like demen --  
  
He stopped suddenly. Harry's spine was tickling under his skin and his insides felt suddenly rather wobbly and numb. He found himself wishing his feet were flat on the ground. He could hear -- or rather, not hear -- that Hermione was holding her breath.  
  
The momentum was enough to carry Remus to the castle wall. He hit it about six feet above the ground; the impact broke his back, but it was clean, thankfully, and it healed all right. He has some back trouble every now and then, but it's generally fine. The rest of him took longer.  
  
Sirius's sudden revival of the original subject without even seeming to notice that he'd said anything else ought, Harry thought dumbly, to have made him feel better. But somehow it just didn't. His stomach wasn't upside down and backwards anymore, but it was colder than ever, along with the rest of him.  
  
It was about three days after the full moon when all that happened, Sirius went on, looking straight ahead and speaking rhythmically, as though in a trance. If the thought crossed Harry's mind that this was because Sirius was horrified of where he had almost gone, and that his godfather was more self-conscious than he had been during this entire conversation, he took no notice of it.  
  
Pomfrey thought he wasn't going to make it for the next couple of weeks, but then he started coming around... another month or so and she would have had him on his feet, but there's no way of keeping the sun from going round, much less keeping the moon getting full. He wasn't healed enough to handle it well. That first month he didn't beat himself up too much, but the second time he was more healed, more awake... it kept on going around in circles for five months like that. He just stopped talking to anyone after a while. James and I couldn't get him to come around no matter what we did. Wormtail -- he spat the word as usual -- had found him the night it happened; he heard the thump on the wall and went out to investigate... I think he was just afraid to go near Remus. James and Lily and I weren't allowed to see him until a few days after he woke up, that first month, but Wormtail saw him brand-new from the branches... Remus wouldn't say a word after the third transformation after he got hurt, but that may have had to do with the fact that he and James had a huge row right before it over why he did it in the first place. He knew all about the trees' origins, after all, and what Revalium did to things. He did homework like crazy, though, while he was having his temporary vow of silence. Once his hand was out of the cast, anyway. I heard Professor Binns say he'd never known such an exceptional student, and you know what sort of high praise that is... Binns never cared about Remus's little close shave with death, though, it's not like that was unfamiliar territory.  
  
Harry wasn't sure what sort of reaction Sirius was trying to get by that statement. A laugh, or what?  
  
He was fine by summer break, though, added Sirius distantly. Almost back to normal.  
  
There was a long pause.  
  
You're only mad at him because you're worried? said a tiny, trembling voice, finally, out of the gloom on the other side of the tree. Harry started. Hermione had more guts than he did, to speak up now.  
  
Sirius roused himself into a more conscious state of mind and said, Oh, no, I'm not angry with him really. Anymore. Just worried. For being one of the smartest people I know, he can be really stupid sometimes.  
  
Harry nodded and thought vaguely of Hermione. And Ron doing that release spell.  
  
Speaking of spells...  
  
You said something about a spell of mistrust'? Harry asked suddenly, unable to stop himself.  
  
Sirius nodded, his face less blank now, and a hint of his usual smile coming back. Yeah, that was a bit of a nasty trick from the Slytherins; Snape and his friends, I think. Malfoy never stooped quite so far, he just watched us and let Snape do all the petty-House-enemies stuff, and then he'd pull a big one on us every six months or a year or so... Anyway. Snape put a spreading mistrust spell on our dormitory -- James', Remus', Wormtail's and mine. Remus and I were in the room when he cast the spell from across the castle, so we were affected worst. Everyone else got some too... I think it was fourth year, I'm not sure, but in any case. A spreading spell is one that is cast on a place, not a person, you know that, right? And then it creeps out and infiltrates everything around it --  
  
Harry was nodding already. Charms, last semester. Flitwick made us do spreading Cheering Charms starting in the middle of the floor to see if it would go out far enough to get the people on the edge of the room --  
  
Yeah, that's what we had to do, too, said Sirius. Well, James got it off us all eventually. It was more entertaining than harmful in retrospect, although Remus and I had it out quite a bit. He gave me a black eye once or twice; like I said, werewolves are a lot stronger than most people...  
  
Sirius was far more cheerful now, and Harry's guts were thawing out, although he still didn't feel up to laughing.  
  
No laughing, he added thoughtfully as his stomach gave a loud growl, but definitely some dinner. And soon. The sun was already setting...  
  
The branches on the other side of the tree were already rustling. We've got problems all over again, said Hermione from a good way down the trunk; But we're not going to solve anything on empty stomachs. I missed lunch. Are you coming?  
  
Harry looked at Sirius, whose almost-normal smile was lost in the deepening gloom. Harry swung his foot around until he found the branch underneath him that he wanted. Climbing trees in the dark is just as hard as it sounds, if not harder.  
  
As they trudged across the castle grounds and through the entrance hall, Harry heard (among the noises of protest from his own body) Sirius's stomach sounding just as empty as Hermione's. But rather than walk down to the Great Hall with them, he turned off towards the hospital wing. Harry watched him go wordlessly. He was off to reconcile with Lupin, Harry was pretty sure, but there was still the matter of Sirius not believing Harry's theory to deal with... and that of the ring itself...  
  
–––––––––––  
_I don't think that I could take another empty moment;  
I don't think that I could fake another hollow smile.  
It's not enough just to be lonely...  
I don't think that I could take another talk about it.  
  
Don't want to be the one who turns the whole thing over;  
Don't want to be somewhere I just don't belong...  
Where it's not enough just to be sorry._  
--from Bed of Lies by matchbox TWENTY  
*******  
  
Harry didn't go to Dumbledore, did he? asked Lupin without looking up as the hospital wing door opened.  
  
  
  
Lupin nodded. He was lying down again, facing away from the door. He always recognized Sirius. It was inevitable -- James had once accused them of telepathy.  
  
I'm not angry, you know. There was the sound of a chair creaking slightly under a heavy weight.  
  
Lupin was really surprised this time. He turned over and looked at Sirius. Faint shadows were growing under the mild brown eyes, and Lupin's expression was that of someone who has been unintentionally awake for a long time and would really like go to sleep. But now, with Sirius's remark, they had developed a hint of question and the brewing relief of someone who hopes they're about to be forgiven.  
  
Sirius shook his head. I'm sorry for reacting like I did in front of Harry. It was something of a shock. And you have to admit that it really was incredibly stupid of you, I'm not going to let you off on that.  
  
Lupin smiled, the relief fully formed on his gray face.  
  
Thank you, Padfoot.  
  
'Just because you're a ravaging, insane monster once a month doesn't mean I don't want to be friends with you.' It was something Sirius had said to Remus late in their first year, right after James had figured out what Remus was. (And, obviously, before Sirius had developed any talent at all for hiding his severe lack of tact...) We've had somewhat of a rough-and-tumble friendship, but I mean what I say. He paused. Even if you do try and kill yourself on a regular basis.  
  
Lupin was silent, and did not smile.  
  
That's what it was, wasn't it?  
  
There was a long silence.  
  
Finally, Remus spoke: I thought perhaps the Willow could do the job, if it were encouraged. I made it look like my own folly in not researching the trees' origins deep enough.  
  
Sirius didn't look at Remus, and neither did the werewolf look at his friend.  
  
So. I was the only one who suspected. The others wouldn't have ever imagined you'd really try it.  
  
Lupin was quiet.  
  
Why'd you do it on the ring? asked Sirius suddenly. Did you know it would -- you know... be degenerative and all that?  
  
said Remus, his voice as pale as his features. I had no idea. I only tried twice. After you were imprisoned and my life had fallen down around me I tried a poison, but it wasn't strong enough. You know I've never been any good at making potions.  
  
Why the Willow? I thought... Sirius swallowed dryly. You once said nothing better could ever have happened to you except us and Hogwarts.  
  
Lupin shook his head, fiddling with the sheets and not looking at Sirius. I mean what I say, he repeated quietly. But you had just had your joke' with Snape. Don't you remember? My greatest fear has always been that I would hurt another human being, but when I saw Severus in the tunnel the wolf's only thought was to kill. And I really wanted to. It felt... perfect. Natural. Without you or James around to control me... And I never wanted to feel that way again, once I was in my right mind.  
  
Sirius opened his mouth, shut it, paled considerably and swallowed again. The only thing he could think, and it was truly selfish to think it, he knew, was how he was glad he hadn't known he had caused one of his friends to attempt suicide when he had been with the dementors. That one extra anguish would have prevented him from ever regaining the strength of will it took to escape.  
  
I'm sorry, was all he could finally manage.  
  
It's not all your fault, Padfoot. Werewolves' life spans are longer than regular humans'. I did not want to face the prospect of outliving all of the only people who had dared to be my friends... no one wants to die alone.  
  
Sirius felt the ominous prickling in his eyes signaling tears, and tried to stop himself.  
  
Why --  
  
Neither does anyone want to know the answer to why,' my dear Padfoot.  
  
Sirius nodded. Telepathy again. He really didn't need to hear any more today. He rather felt he'd like to go and have a good cry in his old dorm room, which, of course, was out of the question...  
  
I'm sorry, he repeated, as he stood up. You must be tired. I'll just get out of your fur... It was an old Marauders' joke to refer to Moony' as if he were a wolf.  
  
Goodnight, and pray don't let the fleas bite.  
  
Excuse me, Padfoot never has fleas. Sirius smiled, his eyes particularly bright. They were just whistling in the dark, of course, but at least it brought back more of the fond memories from before everything had come crashing down around them.  
  
Before he could stop himself, Sirius had knelt beside Remus's bedside and gathered the other man into a tight embrace, as he'd often done after the full moon when Remus rested, recovering, in this same hospital bed. Neither of them ever said anything. Sirius had always just had a bit more empathy for Remus, since his own family had taught him (as so few families were ever likely to do anymore) that werewolves were people, too, and shouldn't ever be looked on as anything else. Sirius closed his eyes just as the first tear leaked out and fell in Remus's still static-shocked hair.  
  
Finally Sirius pulled back. I think Lily said something like, Friendship isn't affected by distance, only by lack of communication. When we graduated and moved apart, that was her way of saying goodbye. Remus nodded; he remembered.  
  
No more secrets? Sirius held out his hand.  
  
Remus smiled, the first true smile Sirius had seen from him in a couple of months -- since Voldemort's defeat, in fact -- and shook Sirius's hand. No more secrets.  
  
Sirius also smiled, and as he stood he slapped Remus on the shoulder. Go to sleep, you mangy-furred chicken thief.  
  
May your tail fall off and your pads rub raw, replied Remus through a yawn.  
  
Good night, old friend.  
–––––––––––––––  
  
Extra A/N: If you know the rest of the words to Bed of Lies, ignore them. There was a reason I only chose these two verses: they were the only ones that fit. Everything else is wrong for the context; they'd be slashy, and I'm not writing slash here. Thanks, and keep reading!


	6. The Sixth Chapter (Subtitled: I couldn't...

A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews! Please keep reading, the next chpt. introduces LotR for those of you who want to see Middle-earth. This is probably the least interesting chapter of the entire story (although it does finally have Snape in it! -- for, er, about 2 seconds) to me, but chpt. 7 is almost done, and it will be posted soon hereafter.  
  
I'm sorry if this sounds a bit different but I've been reading Dickens for school and my writing tends to reflect whatever I'm reading. I've edited it and edited it over and over to make it sound more HP/LotR-ish, though.  
  
Further up and further in!  
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Chapter Six: The Sixth Chapter  
  
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During the war, there were thousands of hostage situations, and quite often they ended with the death of the hostage. While memorials were being carved into enchanted stone around the world, however, there was one group of captives who stood out clearly in everyone's minds; not just Hogwarts students', but all the war survivors'. This group included Natalie McDonald, Eleanor Branstone, John Brocklehurst, Terry Boot, the Patil twins (Parvati and Padma), Eloise Midgen, Malcolm Baddock, and Ron Weasley.  
  
They had ranged from second to sixth year at the time of the capture, and were varied from all four Houses. John was Mandy Brocklehurst's younger brother, a Hufflepuff, Sorted only the year before. The others were all at least two years older than him, but he had gotten along quite well with Eleanor, who was dating his sister's boyfriend's younger brother, Owen Cauldwell. Eleanor was sympathetic for him, being caught up in a large tangle of a family, which had always been a Muggle one until a few generations ago, when a strain of magically-inclined children began being born.  
  
This group had been assigned together for a school project, to their utter dismays. They were all fairly creative and/or good at specialty magicks or acting. They were going to put together a play to entertain the school on Halloween.  
  
(Ron was not there on any basis of creativity, but rather because he had been discovered by Professor McGonagall a few weeks earlier standing on his desk in a Transfiguration class for which she had been particularly late due to some rampant pixies in the staff room, doing a spirited and excellent imitation of Professor Snape trying to give everyone in England detention all at once but being stopped in the middle of the execution sentence by his own unwashed hair coming alive with things that had likely been growing there for years, and strangling the professor for the safety and sanity of the world. McGonagall, though she had had to have a good laugh in her office afterwards, had at the time told Ron off, given him a week's detention, taken twenty points from Gryffindor, and, worst of all, assigned him to the Halloween pageant project.)  
  
The group of nine miserable students was sitting out by the lake one gray and potentially drizzly day, coming up on the two-week mark before their deadline -- Halloween itself -- and comparing their pitiful notes. They had not been thinking much about plays, but rather about the safety of their families and the midterm exams before Christmas and how on earth they were going to survive it all. Malcolm hadn't thought up anything at all, as a matter of fact, and spent the afternoon sneering at everyone else: Eleanor and John talking amiably; Natalie and Terry babbling on animatedly about Quidditch, their notes forgotten; Padma and Parvati comparing cosmetics; and Ron and Eloise sitting with their arms around each other looking out over the lake and sneaking a kiss when they thought no one else was looking.  
  
That is, that was what they had been doing until the dementors came.  
  
They had glided out of the woods behind the group silently, and the first indication anyone had of their presence was the wave of intense cold that swept over them. It was a cold day anyway, but they shivered beneath their cloaks when the dementors crept up. A few of the students, most memorably Malcolm, had turned around -- to be faced by a black-robed figure with a shadowed hood hiding its face (or what could be assumed to be a face), and one slimy, grayish, decaying hand slithering out from between two folds of sable fabric.... and behind that figure, to everyone's immediate leaded-down stomachs, stood thirty or more of the same.  
  
Malcolm screamed. The others might have screamed, too, but afterwards they proclaimed that they could only hear Malcolm, and a white-faced Padma had insisted for weeks that several of the dementors flinched away from the piercing noise. For a thirteen-year-old boy whose voice had already broken, those lungs could produce one high note, and they could _hold it for_**ever**.  
  
Ron, Eloise, Malcolm, Terry, Natalie, Eleanor, Parvati, Padma, and John had been easily surrounded despite their desperate attempts to ward off the dementors. Natalie, who (though no one else but Dumbledore, her mother, and a few others had known at the time) had been abused by her alcoholic Muggle father when she was very little, was the first to pass out, followed by the Patils; who, it was unanimously agreed later (except by Parvati and Padma), hadn't got the strength of mind or will between them to escape from a wet paper bag. The others could have dealt with one dementor, maybe even two, on their own... but then, they had forty of the hideous creatures swarming at them. Quite unsurprisingly, they were taken captive with no trouble whatsoever on the dementors' part.  
  
They had been held by the dementors for the better part of two months. The entirety of the castle (especially Harry, Hermione, Owen Cauldwell, and Mandy Brocklehurst) had worked itself into such a panic that the professors decided it was useless to even try any longer, so they gave up teaching and went about with their business in fighting Voldemort. All the students were given some hands-on experience in magical warfare by helping out as best they could. Sirius came and stayed at the castle, and he and Lupin were hardly ever seen out of each others' company, much less without expressions of concentration or frustration on their faces. Harry and Hermione had contributed to the effort in such earnest that they had to be enchanted to sleep by an exasperated Sirius for the first two weeks, and had only been forced to eat by an extremely anxious Dobby.  
  
Eventually information came by way of Owen Watson, one of the other six registered Animagi of that century besides Professor McGonagall; Owen could turn into an overlarge blackbird at will. Voldemort's airborne army consisted mainly of magically enhanced crows and ravens, so Owen fit right in, and was able to listen in on just about every conference held by Voldemort and the top-ranking Death Eaters. There he found out where the nine students were being kept: in Voldemort's New Azkaban, a castle he had built in the place of the old Riddle House which spread out over much of what had formerly been Little Hangleton; a castle created for the dementors' use. (They had been allowed free reign of the country by Voldemort and a large portion of the castle was filled with half-crazed prisoners and, quite often, bodies.)  
  
The nine Hogwarts students were in what amounted to the dungeon of New Azkaban, though it all looked rather like a dungeon. A raid was eventually put together, with Sirius, Owen, and Professor McGonagall in charge, by Dumbledore's orders (Sirius knew how to navigate in a place so similar to Azkaban, and they could all turn into animals, and thus not be affected so badly by the dementors). Snape and Lupin were directly under them, to their utmost dislike. Despite the fact that Sirius felt extremely odd in the lead next to two such old people -- one of whom could have been his grandfather and the other of whom really was his old teacher, who had given him the idea for becoming an Animagus in the first place -- the raid was executed practically flawlessy. Lupin's medal, commendation from the Minister, and ten-year teaching contract had stemmed from this excursion, as a matter of fact: his bravery was completely unintentional, however, being induced by the common problems in New Azkaban of fainting and getting lost, then meeting other lost people and eventually finding an outer door by some tricky guesswork.  
  
None of the nine kids would say anything about their time in New Azkaban for a long time, saying that they didn't want to think about it, but that at least the dementors hadn't separated them, so that was all right. There was surprisingly little damage done, actually; although Sirius hovered around them anxiously all the time, being the most worried of all the adults, since he could relate to their situation more closely than was comfortable.  
––––––––––––  
  
People had, for the most part, gotten over the strange doings of the infamous Gryffindor seventh years by the next day. They were used to most of the pranks and dangerous spells that made their presence known in highly unlikely ways originating in Gryffindor tower or in one of the second-generation Marauders' other favored hideaways (most of which were well-known, so the hide' part didn't work too well).  
  
A rumor _was_ spreading, though, as Harry found out at breakfast:  
  
Hey, Harry! said Colin Creevey gaily as he sat between Harry and a very sleepy-looking Hermione who had _The Fellowship of the Ring_ open in front of her -- she'd insisted that she wanted to read the books straight after they had gotten back to their common room, and she was already on the last chapter of _Fellowship_, having tackled _The Hobbit_ in about an hour and a half -- at the sparsely seated Gryffindor table. Have you heard, Harry? Do you know? I bet you do, he's your friend --  
  
What, Colin? asked Harry wearily as Dennis came over and sat on his other side.  
  
Did Ron really conjure the shadow, Harry? Justin said --  
  
  
  
Justin Finch-Fletchly said Natalie told him that Voldemort came and offered them all freedom when they were with the dementors if they'd just listen to him, join his side, maybe, and Ron went to another room with him for a while--  
  
Ron is not a Dark wizard! Harry snapped. But then... how _did_ Ron know how to do such an enormous release spell...? Anyway, that shadow messed Natalie up pretty badly, so don't believe Justin...  
  
Still, he was left with something new to chew on.  
  
  
  
  
  
Have you ever heard anything about Ron talking to Vol--  
  
Give me a second, Harry, the orcs are attacking.  
  
Harry turned back to his breakfast in exasperation.  
  
--------  
  
As it was, Hermione didn't really talk to Harry for the rest of that morning and early afternoon. She was too enveloped in Lord of the Rings. Harry saw her curled up in various chairs around the castle, now appearing to only be beginning a book, now turning pages every ten seconds or less somewhere around the middle, now sniffing as she put down _The Two Towers_ and picked up _The Return of the King_, opened the first page, and realized that it didn't pick up where the last one had left off, with Frodo and Sam -- and stared at page one for several minutes with a horrified expression. Harry could just feel that her hands were itching to skip chapters to the next section about the Ringbearers, but she put on a determined expression and started at the beginning.  
  
Meanwhile, Sirius appropriated _Fellowship_ the moment Hermione was done with it, and Harry, realizing that this chain-reading method was not going to work for long since no one read at the same speed, sighed and made a mental note to get some more copies, somehow, sometime soon.  
  
Harry couldn't put one thing off any longer, though: he _had_ to go see Dumbledore.  
  
He came to the stone gargoyle blocking the entrance after another long bout of walking, and started to do the familiar run-through of candy brand names, wizard and Muggle alike.  
  
Jelly Slug... Acid Pop... Blood Sicle... Chocolate Frog... Mars Bars... lemon sherbet... Snickers... Hershey --  
  
Finally, the gargoyle sprang to life and leapt aside. Harry shook his head. It seemed he had memorized every sweet in existence just for this. He rarely ate half of them -- Blood Sicles were for vampires, and who in their right minds would eat a Cockroach Cluster...?  
  
He let the stairs carry him up, uninterested in yet more walking. Because the stairs ascended very slowly, it was a couple of minutes before he got to the top.  
  
He heard no voices inside, so, gingerly, he knocked on the heavy oak door.  
  
Yes? Come in, said Dumbledore's muffled voice.  
  
Harry pushed the door open to find him standing behind his desk with Professor Snape, bending over some papers. Harry's throat went dry. He'd been hoping Dumbeldore would be alone.  
  
Sir -- I, er...  
  
Please come sit, Harry. Severus, kindly inform Miss Turpin of the coincidence, but we'll place no blame until -- unless -- it happens again. Agreed?  
  
Yes, Headmaster, said Snape icily, glaring at Harry as he came in and sat on one of the two poufy chairs facing the desk.  
  
Good. Cheating on tests is something of a natural ability among students, and I dare say sometimes they do it without thinking. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and he glanced at Harry as he said it. Harry felt his face getting warmer. That had only been a couple of questions... in Charms... Flitwick wouldn't have come to Dumbledore about it, would he? He fidgeted.  
  
Snape turned on his heel and marched out of the office, with yet another withering glance at Harry. Snape seemed torn between being happy that Voldemort was finally gone and he no longer had to play the spy, and the fact that Harry had been the one who defeated the Dark Lord. As a result, he was more horrible to Harry than he ever had been, but he relaxed his iron grip on the other students just slightly. Neville was no longer paralyzed with fear at the sight of him, at least.  
  
When Snape was safely out the door, Dumbledore turned to Harry. he said, Severus is picky about little wrongs that do no harm. If Miss Patil and Mr. Pruitt feel the need to share ingredients notes during class, then we must hope that it helped their understanding of the lesson rather than hindered it. Now, Harry. What is it you've come to see me about?  
  
Well, sir, began Harry, weary of repeating his story but resigned to do it again, you know the shadow-thing day before yesterday? Dumbledore nodded, still smiling. And how you couldn't pick up Hermione's ring? Another nod, though the smile flickered. Er, I think I may know what the ring is... it brought the shadow when Professor Lupin did Revalium Incantatem on it -- anyway, there are these books by a Muggle, Tolkien --  
  
Dumbledore gestured for Harry to stop. Yes, the Lord of the Rings. Don't look so surprised, Harry, said the Professor as Harry opened his mouth in astonishment. I like Muggle books quite as much as I like Muggle sweets. Yes, I have read Tolkien's works -- they are some of my favorites. And the thought had already crossed my mind that there was a strong resemblance between our current situation and those books.  
  
Harry stared in wonder. He should have known Dumbledore would drop something like this on him.  
  
Sir, shouldn't we... I don't know... _do_ something? I mean, in the books, they had to destroy the ring, I thought...  
  
That we must travel to Middle-earth and cast the ring -- again -- into the fires of Mount Doom? Harry nodded. Well, yes, perhaps -- but that remains to be seen. Have you, perchance, heard of the theory of the existence of parallel universes?  
  
Hermione said something... mumbled Harry.  
  
Dumbledore had moved Snape's papers into a drawer by now, and sat down behind his desk, facing Harry. He now opened a different drawer and took out some different papers; these he laid facing Harry, and pushed them across the desk towards the boy. Harry pulled up his chair closer and looked at the pages. Three were maps or charts or something; and the others were covered with small, neat writing, which Harry assumed was Dumbledore's hand.  
  
He scanned over the written pages: they seemed to be an essay on the theory, as Dumbledore had said, of the existence of parallel universes. It wasn't one of those dull, dry, long-winded essays, though; this one looked quite interesting and Harry had to tear his eyes from it to look at the charts.  
  
Two of the drawn-on pages were old and yellowing around the edges, like the essay-papers: these two were charts showing what could, with more than a little imagination and more intelligence than Harry currently had, possibly have been drawings of a line in the fourth, fifth, and sixth dimensions. They made Harry's brain hurt just to look at, so he slipped out the newer page instead. It looked a lot like the Marauder's Map, only without the minute detail and the labeled dots representing people; and this map, rather than being of Hogwarts, was quite clearly a map of Middle-earth.  
  
Dumbledore gave Harry a minute or so to look over the papers before speaking again. he said, -- minus the map, of course -- is the Magical Theory essay I was obliged to write before I could graduate from this very school. They have taken Magical Theory off of the curriculum since then, unfortunately -- it was replaced by Defense Against the Dark Arts in your parents' second year at school, due to the sudden unveiling of the Dark Lord. My subject, as you see, was that of parallel universes... I have read and reread those things I wrote so long ago, recently, and have come to the only conclusion I can: I must have been right. At the time I thought it nearly as ludicrous as everyone else did, but with more years on me now, it seems to make a bit more sense. Several of the facts that were theory at the time have now been proven true, and they all point in the same direction.  
  
Harry thought a moment, then said, Well, if it's true, then how do we get into one of these other universes? I mean, if Middle-earth is one of them?  
  
That is another thing I've been thinking over. I know, of course, having read the books, the danger of simply keeping the ring hidden from its master for long periods of time rather than actually going to the trouble of destroying it -- and besides, I am certainly not going to keep it, active and angry, inside a school full of unknowing children -- so I believe it _is_ necessary to get into this other universe somehow. This -- he pointed to the diagrams of lines, -- is the only idea I have as of yet of how to manage it, but I am afraid I haven't gotten any further. I've informed Professor McGonagall of the difficulty and my ideas about it and she has -- quite reluctantly, I may add; I don't think she is particularly inclined to believe me -- been helping.  
  
Harry felt a bit stranded by this. Dumbledore was ahead of him by far, whether he said he hadn't made any progress or not.  
  
Er -- I was wondering, said Harry lamely, changing the subject, if I could go into Hogsmeade and get some more copies of the book? Everyone's taking mine and they'll start fighting soon.  
  
Dumbledore smiled even wider. Have you not had Duplication Charms yet, Harry? -- oh, no, Professor Flitwick told me they'd be covered in the spring semester. Well, give me a moment.  
  
He bade Harry stay put, and went into a little private room that opened off the back of his office. When he came back a few minutes later it was with a large armload of books.  
  
He set the six paperbacks he was carrying down on the desk, and said, I've made two duplicates of each of my copies of the trilogy. I believe that will suffice. Miss Granger will be likely to have finished them by the day after tomorrow, but Mr. Weasley, I think, may take longer. His eyes twinkled, and Harry didn't feel like correcting him about Hermione -- it was more likely she'd have them finished by lunch time today.  
  
That was all you came for?  
  
Harry nodded. May I -- may I borrow your essay? I'd like to read it, he said, glancing at the papers on the desk.  
  
Certainly, Harry. Good reading, and enjoy the holidays while they last.  
  
This was clearly a dismissal, so, feeling somewhat put out and yet more hopeful than he had ever been in the last two days, Harry picked up the six books and stack of papers awkwardly, and started walking towards the door.  
  
Ah -- Harry? said Dumbledore from behind. Harry half-turned to look at him. Please give my apologies to anyone you lend those books; I think I wrote in the margins quite a bit over the years, and Duplication Charms, unfortunately, copy things detail-for-detail.  
  
Harry grinned and said he would do just that. Now he wanted to look at them himself. Who knew what sort of things Dumbledore might have written in his books?  
  
Harry went down the stairs and through the abundance of halls, yet again, to visit the hospital wing. There he found Professor Lupin's curtains drawn; but Ron was sitting up and wide-awake in bed.  
  
he cried enthusiastically when he saw his friend come in. Thank God! I keep telling that woman I feel fine, but she won't let me go! His reference to Madam Pomfrey as that woman' did not go unnoticed by the nurse herself, who was sitting in her office reading a book with the door wide open: she gave Ron a piercing glare, which he returned full force.  
  
I went to see Dumbledore, panted Harry, dropping the books on the foot of Ron's bed and sitting next to them with a flump. He already knew about Tolkien and Lord of the Rings and all that... Harry gave a quick recount of his conversation with Dumbledore.  
  
Ron bent forward and picked up one of the books, a duplicate of Dumbledore's copy of _The Two Towers_. Opening to a random page and quickly scanning the contents, he snorted.  
  
said Harry.  
  
Page 219, Ron sniggered.  
  
Picking up the other copy of the same book and looking at the indicated page, Harry had to agree with Ron's reaction.  
  
_The Riders gazed up at Theoden like men startled out of a dream. Harsh as an old raven's their master's voice sounded after the music of Saruman. But Saruman for a while was beside himself with wrath. He leaned over the rail as if he would smite the King with his staff. To some suddenly it seemed they saw a snake coiling itself to strike.  
_  
In the middle of this paragraph, the name Saruman was circled, and, with an arrow from the right margin indicating it, the words were written in a neat, loopy hand Harry recognized as Dumbledore's, Mood swings. Bit in need of a psychiatrist.  
  
This ought to be entertaining, said Ron. Which one comes first again?  
  
_Fellowship_. That one is second, _Return of the King_ is third -- half of it is appendixes, but you don't have to read those. Harry veered over to the more important subject. But really, Ron, what about that essay? If Middle-earth is a parallel universe -- even in the books it sort of seems like England, only a really long time ago --  
  
Let me read them first. I'll get back to you.  
  
Harry gave an exasperated sigh.  
  
Well, Hermione might've finished your set by now, go talk to her, said Ron irritably.  
  
All right, I will, said Harry, standing up. How's Professor Lupin? he added as an afterthought.  
  
said Ron. All morning. Full moon night after tomorrow. Blue moon, too -- those are particularly strong -- the effect is probably wearing him out. I heard voices last night -- I think he and Sirius were talking -- something about suicide. Do you know what all that was about yesterday?  
  
Harry sighed again, resumed his position on the foot of the bed, and told Ron everything Sirius had said in the tree. Intruiged by Ron's mention of suicide, he finished with an inquiry about it.  
  
said Ron; Well, I was really half-asleep, and they were talking in low voices... I didn't catch a lot. Something like, Sirius was the only one who suspected? And then Lupin said he made it look like his own folly. I fell all the way asleep then.  
  
Harry sat dumbstruck. Lupin try suicide? He'd always seemed perfectly composed... just not the sort for that kind of thing... still... the wolf...  
  
I suppose, said Harry slowly, it all just hit him after Sirius did his joke on Snape. That he couldn't get rid of what he was, and how dangerous he really is... and he didn't want to hurt anyone...  
  
Harry, you really have been visiting Dumbledore. You're having deep insights again. I can't ever make sense of those. Ron had picked up his wand and was trying to make _The Fellowship of the Ring_ float open in front of his face without him having to hold it.  
  
Don't you care at all that Professor Lupin tried to kill himself? said Harry, rounding on Ron, surprised.  
  
Of course I do, Harry, said Ron, seriously this time. He turned from his experimenting and looked gravely into Harry's eyes. I don't think it's that remote, though. Really, I would too, if I were a werewolf. You know how I was closer to him when he transformed out on the grounds, in third year? Right after he and Sirius had explained about Wormtail? Well, he looked right at me halfway through, for a split second -- his eyes had gone all sickly yellow with slit pupils, and his hair was all gray and thick and spreading down his neck, and he had fallen on his hands with his back legs already a wolf's... he looked right at me, and there was actually a bit of humanity left. I could tell... it was awful to watch anyway, but then the look he gave me... he was in pain, Harry. Real pain, I mean, I'm sure when your scar hurts, that's painful, and I know being with the dementors for two months was painful, but since nothing really bad had happened to me before for the dementors to bring out in my mind, it wasn't _real_ pain. Even the Cruciatus Curse isn't _real_ pain like I saw in Lupin. I don't know if you follow me. But Lupin didn't just look like the transformation hurt; I could tell he was fighting the wolf's mind, and it was winning. For that split second I thought it would've been perfectly safe to go near him, because all he was doing was asking for help. Then the next split-second, he went completely animal and I wanted to run as far away as I could. Would've, too, if my damn leg hadn't been broken. There wasn't a scrap of Lupin left in it, it was just an animal, and one that would've eaten me in a heartbeat. That's the kind of thing that would make anyone kill themselves, Harry. He wanted so badly for it to stop because he didn't want to hurt anyone, but once he lost his grip on himself, there was nothing he could do -- he _wanted_ to hurt people. Hagrid's textbook says, you know, something like werewolves are one of the few breeds of magical beasts that actively seek human prey as opposed to other animals,' or whatever. Hermione will have memorized it.  
  
Anyway, yes, to answer your question, Harry, I know why Lupin'd kill himself, and I really do care. But it didn't work and now he's our best teacher, and I really don't think he'd try it again. With his potion every month, and Sirius cleared, and a good job, I'd say he probably hasn't had a better time in his life except maybe when he was in school.  
  
Harry stared, open-mouthed, at his suddenly philosophical friend.  
  
said Ron, throwing up his hands and accidentally knocking his book out of the air. It's your fault, I tell you! You're rubbing off on me... I'm having bloody insights and junk...  
  
Ron -- said Harry, then stopped. Okay. Well. Er. Yeah, that... that kind of... explains it nicely. I think.  
  
Harry and Ron sat in silence for a while. Ron picked up his book again and tried to re-cast his levitation spell, but it didn't seem to want to work anymore. He whacked his wand on the bed a few times as if that would help.  
  
Stupid thing... he muttered under his breath. Hasn't done anything right since that stupid release charm....  
  
Harry said finally, a new train of thought triggered by Ron's comment. Ron looked up expectantly from his fussy wand. The Creevey kids were going around at breakfast... they said that when you and the others were with the dementors, Voldemort came and offered clemency... and you went with him. Colin thought you had conjured the shadow. What's up, and why didn't you tell me?  
  
Ron slapped his forehead in exasperation. Okay, who ratted?  
  
Nataile told Justin Finch-Fletchly and he's been spreading it...  
  
Agh! She just had to tell a Hufflepuff, didn't she? They're all the gossipers of _doom_... yeah, You-Know – sorry, Voldemort -- it's feels weird to say that -- came and offered freedom to us if we'd just listen to him for a while, see his side of it. I wasn't ever going to go to the Dark side really, I just played along for a while... he thought he'd won me over, and put me back in the cell with the others to try and convince them to see their errors'... Ron said this last with little quotation marks formed by his fingers at the sides of his head. He made a face. It was probably too risky for a sane person to do, but I just wanted to get _away_ from those other guys for a while... except Eloise, I mean -- they were so annoying. Especially Parvati and Padma. Wailing and screaming and stomping around _all the time_. I swear, I was more miserable because of them than any dementors. I can't believe I ever let Padma _dance_ with me.  
  
Is that how you knew the release spell? asked Harry, playing on his suspicions of earlier.  
  
said Ron, furrowing his brows. Voldemort taught me some stuff... I forgot most of it right off, it was awful, but there were a few useful things... all really powerful, I couldn't actually do them for a long time. He made me do the Cruciatus Curse on a rat. It wasn't too hard to look like I enjoyed it, I mean, with Wormtail and all. You know, he added thoughtfully, it might have _been_ Wormtail. I didn't see him around -- human, anyway...  
  
He was part of the raids they did on the castle and Hogsmeade while you were in New Azkaban, Harry said quickly. He almost killed Professor Lupin with that silver hand...  
  
Oh, yeah, said Ron, not quite sorrowfully. Well, he taught me the release spell. Seemed to think I was a fast learner -- I think he was going to put me pretty high in his ranks. Ron shuddered. I'm just glad you got us when you did. I think he was about to take me away from the others in a few more days, and give me an... an assignment or something. Put me on duty.  
  
Harry shook his head. Why didn't you ever tell anyone before?  
  
said Ron, with a fleeting expression of hollow terror, as if he were suddenly remembering the way he had cowered before something far greater than he, not so long ago. I dunno. I didn't feel like it.  
  
Harry didn't pursue the subject.  
  
... Er, mind if I trot off? said Harry, trying to take Ron's mind off of dementors. I've got to go show Hermione this stuff... I think she'll be interested in the essay... maybe she can make something out of it.  
  
All right, said Ron, cheering up. I'm going to start these books you're fussing about all the time... they'd better be worth it... they're not like the History of Magic textbook, are they? Dry, long sentences, no point to get to? he asked anxiously.  
  
Not at all, said Harry. The fact that I read them for fun ought to be proof...  
  
Ron looked relieved, as he finally managed to get the book to hover in front of him again. See you tomorrow -- if that woman will let me out by then. He recieved another glare from Madam Pomfrey. Harry suddenly wondered if she had heard all they said, and felt rather uncomfortable at the prospect.  
  
Harry opened the hospital wing door with one hand, the other busy being full of books, and gave a small wave before popping out into the hallway and heading towards the library, where he supposed Hermione to be.  
  
Neither he nor Ron had listened very hard in the hospital wing, and after Harry left, Ron became too concentrated on his book to take any notice of the small ambient sounds in the room; but, if either of them had paid any attention to the single other room occupant's breathing, they might have noticed that it was not the deep, constant breath of a person sound asleep, but was ragged and shallow: the breath of someone weeping silently, wrapped up in their own little miseries.  
  
Remus Lupin had heard every word they'd said.  
  
---------------  
  
Hermione was, as Harry had suspected, still curled up in a chair by a window with fading light. She had lit a candle on the table near her to make up for it, and Harry saw that she was currently deep in the middle of _The Return of the King_.  
  
Herm -- he began, dragging over another chair and sitting in it, but she cut him off with a savage wave of her hand. He blinked and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose absently.  
  
Just ten minutes, Harry, really, they're at Bree again, I'll be done in a moment... go on...  
  
Harry sighed and, stacking the three books he carried on the small table that already held the candle and his own set of books, he resigned himself to reading Dumbledore's graduate essay.  
  
It turned out to be just as interesting a read as he thought it would be, despite the fact that he had no idea what it was talking about. He sniggered once or twice at some particularly effective wording by Dumbledore, eliciting glares from Madam Pince, the librarian, and deep frowns from Hermione, who never once looked up from the pages of Harry's hardcover copy of _Return of the King_.  
  
Twenty minutes had passed since Harry had entered the library when Hermione's mouth fell open and she stared at a page somewhere around two-thirds through the book. She didn't turn the page for almost a full minute; the silence finally got through to Harry's ears, and he looked up.  
  
he said.  
  
Hermione came to life a fraction at a time, alternately looking on the edge of tears and spluttering indignantly. How's that a way to end a book? she managed finally, in a high squeak which got another glare from Madam Pince. I mean -- _really_ -- what happens to Sam and, and Pippin and...! Frodo doesn't just _leave_? Just like that? Leave Sam behind? That's just -- that's just --  
  
She couldn't think of what it was, though, and she lapsed into silence as a tear rolled down her cheek.  
  
That's not fair, she said in a half-moan after a long pause. She rubbed the back of her hand furiously under her eyes, and sniffed loudly.  
  
Good books, huh? said Harry, grinning slightly.  
  
Harry -- you think this stuff really _happened_? said Hermione, finally looking up at him. Because -- well -- it's just _awful_ in places. Poor Frodo! If he's a real person, I mean... his fate was so terrible, succumbing to the Ring and Gollum biting off his finger for it... if we get into Middle-earth, will he be there? Won't he have left already for the Elves' island? Because I don't want him involved with the Ring again... poor guy...  
  
Harry shrugged, completely at a loss. I have no idea -- I never thought about _when_ we'd be going there... I guess we just go when our time and their time coincide.  
  
Hermione bore a puzzled look.  
  
Harry handed her the essay. It's Dumbledore's graduate paper... He explained to her about his visits to Ron and Professor Dumbledore. When he'd finished, she read the papers much faster than Harry had, and spent several minutes perusing the line-drawings and shooting comments out at no one.  
  
Yes, that makes sense, the space-time continuum isn't really space-time... there's a space continuum and a time continuum but they're not the same... that's why... ooh, I see... that makes so much sense! Harry, I'm glad you got this... hmm... yes, so a Time-Turner can change time but not space!...  
  
Harry tuned her out after a while and stared at the ceiling, tapping his fingers and waiting for her to get done.  
  
The fourth dimension is another space dimension but the fifth is a time dimension!... oh, Harry, this is just a massive breakthrough... I think I can have it by a week or two... can I keep these? She brandished the papers at him.  
  
Harry snapped out of his stupor at the question. Huh? Oh -- sure. Glad they make sense to you, I just liked the writing style...  
  
What? Well, yes, it is somewhat entertaining... but Harry, I think I can figure out how to get into Middle-earth with this... I just need to think it over for a couple of weeks, and do some experimenting...  
  
That fast? asked Harry, somewhat startled.  
  
Well, yes, it's really quite obvious...  
  
Well, that makes you smarter than Dumbledore and McGonagall put together, then, muttered Harry skeptically.  
  
What was that? said Hermione, who was looking at the map of Middle-earth and hadn't heard.  
  
said Harry quickly. Look, I'm hungry, I'm going down to dinner... are you coming or do you want to stay with your papers?  
  
Hermione eventually chose to eat dinner with Harry, but she brought the essay along and mumbled to herself the whole time, even through mouthfuls of beef casserole; and her brows never lost their deep furrows. She left for the library again immeditely afterwards.  
  
After dinner Harry went up to the Gryffindor common room, and, finding nothing of interest to do without Ron or Hermione there, he went up to his dorm. There he lay and looked over Dumbledore's copy of _Fellowship_, reading all the tidy little notes in the margins until his own thoughts about the past few days claimed him and he had to out the book down because he couldn't focus on the pages.  
  
He had his doubts as to whether Hermione really was onto something -- surely she couldn't be wiser in the matter than Dumbledore and McGonagall. But then... Hermione was always popping up with something new, like when she walked out of Divination in third year, or slapped Malfoy, or stole things from Snape's office. There was no telling what she'd come up with, and if it was of any use at all it would probably be the answer to all their questions.  
  
Ron, now, was a different matter... that time with the dementors must have changed him more than Harry had previously thought... suddenly he was showing skill with advanced magicks, and a learning of the Dark Arts; he'd been subject to a face-to-face confrontation with Voldemort, and survived two months in New Azkaban... and his reaction to the news about Professor Lupin had been remarkable. It was the kind of thing Harry always expected to hear from Dumbledore or maybe Sirius, but certainly not Ron.  
  
His thoughts became more and more muddled, however, until he drifted off entirely and began to snore. Tomorrow would be tomorrow; and as it wasn't here yet, he needn't worry about it for the time.  
---------------


	7. Ring Around the Rosie

A/N: I'm in a generous mood! Of course, you may not thank me much when you reach the end. Chpt. 8 is underway! I just couldn't wait to put up this chpt. because it is one of my favorites so far and as I am afflicted with chronic impatience, I couldn't wait to see what people think of it.  
  
I don't own Harry Potter, JKR does; I don't own Lord of the Rings, the Tolkien Estate does. Happy? Please no sue, me no do anyting wrong, no, really!  
  
Read on, Macduff, and damned be him that first cries Where's my Legolas!?!  
--------------  
  
Chapter Seven: Ring Around the Rosie  
  
--------------  
_Ring around the rosie,  
Pockets full of of posies;  
Ashes, ashes,  
All fall down!_  
--------------  
  
Oh... I don't know, it's just not making sense any more... I thought I had it that first night...  
  
Hermione was pacing the hearth rug in the Gryffindor common room. Christmas holidays had passed; Professor Lupin had recovered from the blue moon on December 30 and was back to teaching classes. Ron had been let out of the hospital wing on the 29th, his nose buried in _Fellowship_ all the while. Dumbledore had been right, Ron was taking forever to read the books, and was only now reaching the halfway mark in _The Two Towers_. Meanwhile, Snape had been more vindictive than he'd ever been in the last year, possibly because of the fact that the shadow hadn't managed to kill any Gryffindors; and Hermione had been fretting and moaning and scouring her brains out over Dumbledore's essay and the idea of getting into Middle-earth. While the N.E.W.T.s had returned full force, she had dropped off somewhat in her regular school studies (the key word being _somewhat._ Ron claimed he couldn't see a difference).  
  
This night, however, she was in the unusual circumstance of having gotten all her homework done during the afternoon. Now she had an entire free night, and was spending it in her usual ritual of fretting and scouring. Several bits of parchment covered with sums and scratchy writing were on the table at which Ron and Harry sat doing their Divination homework, but writing them seemed to have been of no avail to Hermione, who suddenly came over, snatched them up, and threw them on the fire.  
  
She resumed her pacing, muttering to herself.  
  
said Ron, exasperated. Give it a rest! Wearing a trench in the floor isn't going to help! I'll die of poisoning next week, okay?  
  
Harry asked whether it should be Snape or a homicidal first year this time. Ron decided on having an owl bring the poison from a mysterious figure outside the school and drop it in his orange juice during breakfast. Harry grinned and scratched away with his quill. Professor Trelawny had gotten them making prediction charts again, to show the first years how real prediction charts should be done, and she fawned over Harry and Ron as her favorite students. Harry and Ron were absolutely appalled by it, and were quite vocal about their opinion of Trelawny, but Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown had chosen to conveniently not notice this, and were always unpredictably angry or sulky when they laid eyes on either of the two boys. Right now they were experimenting with the Professor, trying to see how ridiculous they could get before Trelawny noticed that some of these things just were not possible.  
  
Hermione's pacing was interrupted by a knock at the portrait hole and a disgruntled protest from the Fat Lady. Her bushy hair flying every which way as she tried to redo her ponytail, Hermione went over and swung open the portrait to admit Eloise Midgen. They came over to the table, where Hermione promptly resumed her pacing and Eloise took a seat by Ron. The Fat Lady closed of her own accord.  
  
Harry rolled his eyes as Ron and Eloise snuck a light kiss. They were hopelessly starstruck, much as they denied it.  
  
Eloise was of medium height (which made her almost half a head shorter than Ron, who refused to stop growing upwards), with eyes of no particular color, though if they must have a name, you might call them a muddled hazel. Her hair was shoulder-length, thin, dry, and stick-straight, of a reddish-brown hue. She did her best to look all right, though, with her hair in a sleek French braid and her nails painted to match it. She wore glasses, but they suited her face, and Harry thought she'd look really odd without them anyway. Black did not become her, unfortunately, but once classes were over every day she immediately went to her Hufflepuff dorm and changed into light beige robes. She wasn't really very vain, but finally losing her acne and gaining a boyfriend had made her a little more self-conscious. She certainly did not lack a sense of humor, though she'd never be called a Marauder. Harry thought she was quite pleasant, and had congratulated Ron on the find. Now if he, Harry, could just build up the nerve to ask Cho...  
  
So, is Professor Trelawny going to kick you out yet?  
  
Harry asked. He had been looking into space, thinking about Cho, and hadn't heard Eloise's question. She repeated it.  
  
I dunno. Maybe we should try writing a prediction chart where nothing terrible happens to us for a whole month. That'd probably put us out the door in under two minutes.  
  
Eloise grinned. You really shouldn't fake your homework, you know... she said half-heartedly.  
  
What's the fun in that? asked Ron indignantly. Anyway, this is Trelawny we're talking about. The one Dumbledore says has only ever made two real predictions in her life. What does she know?  
  
Eloise sighed and rolled her eyes. Okay, then. I've shirked my share of homework, anyway. What's up with Hermione? This last was in a low voice, spoken for Ron and Harry's ears only.  
  
She's still trying to solve the mysteries of the universe, Harry said vaguely, looking over his and Ron's charts.  
  
Eloise had been informed, albeit inadvertently, by Ron, of their ring problem. As it turned out she'd been a big fan of Lord of the Rings ever since she was a little girl, having lived with her Muggle father during summer breaks (her parents were divorced, and child custody had gone straight to her witch mother; but her father still kept her in the summer). Her father wasn't whimsical, per se, but did tend to spoil Eloise to death (something harshly remedied the instant winter rolled in, by her strict mother) -- and when Eloise had begged for the books, he complied easily. Her copies were well-worn and she had brought them to Hogwarts with her without a second thought. That sort of family story , which was a pretty common one around the school (the half-blood childrens' custody arrangements, anyway), made Harry wonder how many of the students had actually _already_ read Lord of the Rings. As a matter of fact, it made him surprised that Hermione hadn't heard of them before.  
  
Ron had let slip some comments one night, almost a week ago, about Lupin's brief hospitalization, and that it had some connection with the shadow that had passed the day before. Of course, this eventually led to a heated discussion in which Harry and Hermione tried in vain to patch up Ron's mistake. Finally Harry gave in and told Eloise the whole thing. She might as well know, he thought; she was a part of their group now, after all.  
  
  
She hasn't come up with anything yet? Eloise asked with a hint of concern. Look, Harry, there's no telling what could happen if we don't get rid of that ring -- you read the books -- I mean, even if no one ever sees it or even gets near it, the influence is still there. It could be spreading and we don't even know it.  
  
I know that already, Harry snapped. I've already been there, all right? We know what we don't _want_ to happen, we just don't know how to stop it. If Hermione and Dumbledore can't figure it out, we're screwed, but before then, give me a break.  
  
They sat in silence for a while, listening absently to the common room noises. The fire crackled loudly, snapping on a couple of fireworks tossed in it by the UberFreds and UberGeorges, as they were not-so-fondly called, school-wide, by the prefects: a bunch of third years who had been causing mischief from day one. Blue stars shot out and spanged off the walls, causing rampant mayhem that seemed oddly to break around Harry, Ron, and Eloise's table, like the ocean on a rock.  
  
Hermione was jostled around by the fire until her last nerve wore through and she raged over to the table where the others sat, and yanked up a chair by Harry, looking completely miffed.  
  
I give up! she cried, banging her hand on the table. I just don't see any _way_ --  
  
Ron said finally, worn to within an inch of his last nerve with annoyance. Parallel universes, right?_ Parallel?_  
  
With a void between them, Hermione said, weary of explaining her theories. Two currents go through the void, I think, but--!  
  
Whatever! Parallel. Like two cliff faces, right?  
  
And the void.  
  
Ron ignored that. So if you're on one side of a gorge and you want to get on the other side, what do you do?  
  
Well, that's just _it_! Hermione snapped. I've been trying to find, build, something like a -- a -- some kind of broom, or something, that could fly us across, but --  
  
A _BRIDGE!_ Ron fairly bellowed. A lot of the common room, including a couple of UberFreds, had either settled down or frozen mid-rampage, and they were now watching Ron with some interest. A _bridge_, you idiot! What the bloody hell do you build if you want across a void, or whatever? Pull out the Great Magical Four-By-Six, toss it down, across you go! OY!  
  
Hermione sat stock-still, fretting, scouring, and resultant bad mood all forgotten, and gaped open-mouthed at Ron.  
  
That -- that -- that could --  
  
That could work? Harry offered dryly.  
  
Harry, I'll go insane and strangle a friend close to me tomorrow, Ron growled, with a pointed glare at Hermione. You can take out the black eye and broken leg and put it for yourself Thursday after next.  
  
Harry nodded, trying to hide a small grin that really wasn't appropriate for the moment, and scribbled on a new sheet of parchment.  
  
Trelawny's going to have a mystical fit when she sees this, he said, trying to keep his voice from quivering with withheld laughter. He spared a glance up from the homework and caught sight of Eloise biting her lower lip to keep from giggling.  
  
You've got an audience, if you haven't noticed, Eloise murmured to Ron and Hermione, then turned her mouth into her cupped hand, closed her eyes, and tried very hard to stop herself from bursting out laughing.  
  
Ron and Hermione glanced around at half the common room staring them in the face, and reacted in their own ways: Ron's ears went very red and he tried to slink down behind Eloise (which didn't work very well, because of his height); and Hermione, though she did turn an interesting shade of pink, gave a practiced haughty glare to those standing or sitting nearest her.  
  
When their crowd had dispersed, Hermione picked up a new sheet of parchment and instantly began writing with lightning speed. Ron and Harry shook their heads and went half-heartedly back to their Divination work, listening to Eloise's random comments on how they could make some prediction or another even more improbable.  
  
---------  
  
Have you ever thought, muttered Eloise sleepily, much later that night, in the common room, how much Dumbledore is like Gandalf?  
  
Harry didn't respond immediately. His eyes were practically sticking themselves shut and he could barely think, he was so tired. Ron was already snoring, his head on Eloise's shoulder, and Hermione had wandered up the girls' staircase to her dorm quite a while ago, muttering that it might be quieter up there. By now three-quarters the Gryffindors were asleep anyway, and the common room was almost empty.  
  
Eventually, Eloise's question got through Harry's slow ears and into his even slower brain, and after some thought he nodded.  
  
I mean, Eloise continued, with that groggy kind of wisdom that sometimes one is only enlightened with when one is half-asleep, I mean... they're just both so wise. And old. And...  
  
Harry murmured. Really powerful wizards?  
  
Yeah... and the only people the great enemies are afraid of... you know Gandalf came to Middle-earth to help defeat Sauron... that was his point in being there... I wonder if Dumbledore was sent to be here?  
  
Harry gave a mild shrug and shook his head slowly. He's just a wizard. He's not... otherworldly, if that... well.... He stopped, frowned, and thought about it. No... never mind... yes he is. Otherworldly, I mean. Isn't he? Maybe... I don't know...  
  
Who'd everyone else be, if Dumbledore's Gandalf? Eloise mused, dropping her head onto Ron's and snuggling closer to the redhead, who twitched and muttered something incoherent. You'd be... Frodo... I suppose.  
  
Harry shrugged again. Ron could be Sam, and you and Hermione could be Merry and Pippin. He grinned. Now, that's a weird thought. Wonder what Ron would look like potbellied and three feet tall, with big hairy feet?  
  
Eloise snorted. Same could go for you, she muttered. Harry's grin vanished.  
  
What about... what about Professor Lupin? Or... Professor Snape? Eloise's voice was becoming fainter and fainter. Malfoy... Hagrid?  
  
I'd think... I'd think maybe Snape could be Gollum, Harry said, somewhat slurred. Or Saruman. Or... or... and Voldemort could be Sauron. Nah, Sauron's way more powerful. ...Voldemort could be the Mouth of Sauron, you know, the guy in black that's at the Morannon at the end... or... and you know, Sirius is sort of like Aragorn, only... only he's already gotten out of exile... and his exile wasn't self-imposed and all that... and he's certainly... certainly not a kiiiaaawhn. Harry interrupted himself with a large yawn.  
  
he repeated distantly, but before he could go on, he dropped off into slumber.  
  
-----------  
  
Miss Granger... I believe this may be the answer.  
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled unfathomably as he stood before Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Eloise, who had approached him after dinner a week later, in the Great Hall, so Hermione could show him her completed charts and bridge plans. (It didn't look much like any bridge Harry had ever seen, he thought skeptically. It looked a lot more like Dumbledore's drawing of a 4-D line.)  
  
I also believe, the Headmaster added with a bright smile, that you are relieved of the requirement of a graduate essay in both Charms and Transfiguration. If there were still a Magical Theory course, you would have passed it with well over two hundred percent, I dare say.  
  
Harry had to kick Ron to keep him from protesting. Hermione got let out of _two_ of their N.E.W.T.s?  
  
Hermione, on the other hand, was beaming despite herself: she had gone extremely red in the face, and a faint shimmer of sweat was on her forehead, because she was so hot with embarrassment.  
  
Well -- really -- Ron gave me the idea...  
  
I thank you, then, as well, Mr. Weasley, said Dumbledore, solemnly shaking Ron's hand. Ron's ears went pink.  
  
Miss Granger, I shall share this with the other staff and we will proceed accordingly. I'll be absolutely sure that you are updated on all our doings, and please -- don't feel that you need give this up entirely, even though it has been taken into other hands. Your help is very valuable to myself and all the staff members. You've proved yourselves more than often enough, and with your high standings in both academic learning and practical experience, you may be called on at any time.  
  
Harry nodded, and glanced at the others: Hermione was still quite pink, wiping her face with her sleeve, and Ron was looking as though he might need a bit of translation. Eloise had not been on speaking terms with the Headmaster for as long as Harry and the others had, though, and she hung in the back, looking a trifle nervous.  
  
Thank you again, said Dumbledore, smiling and bidding them farewell and good classes the next day. He took his leave towards the entrance hall, presumably to call a meeting in the staff room.  
  
The four of them started heading back towards Gryffindor tower. Eloise had relaxed considerably.  
  
What now, did he say? Ron asked, wrinkling his nose and furrowing his brows in confusion.  
  
Oh, honestly, Ron, said Hermione, thought she didn't truly look vexed. He said he'd keep us in the loop because we're smart and we know how to defend ourselves.  
  
said Ron, his face clearing. I was just messed up by practical experience.' When my Mum says practical experience,' it usually means washing the dishes without magic. He winced.  
  
Harry laughed. No, I think he was more along the lines of stuff like facing Voldemort about seventeen times and surviving it. Or living two months with dementors.  
  
Don't talk about that, Eloise snapped suddenly.  
  
Harry blinked and gave her a look, but she kept her face set in a hardened expression, and edged closer to Ron, who offered her his arm. She put hers through it, and thusly they scrambled through the portrait hole. Harry wasn't sure how they managed it side-by-side, but they did.  
  
Well, we're all set, I suppose, said Harry, almost disappointed. Dumbledore's got it under control... we'll maybe hear something, but then everyone else'll take care of it, and that'll be that. He flopped into a chair, feeling strangely dejected despite Dumbledore's praise.  
  
What're you talking about, Harry? Ron asked, puzzled. Hermione's face had fallen oddly devoid of expression.  
  
Well, it's just, after Voldemort died everything got so _boring_. Just tests, tests, and more tests, and the usual lull of school. Harry was trying to find the right words to phrase his thoughts. This seemed -- well, _interesting_, for once.  
  
Eloise repeated. She looked appalled. Interesting? Great, Harry, you're saying that finding out the your father's best friend, practically your uncle, tried to kill himself when he was sixteen, and it's just interesting? Or that Frodo Baggins went through _hell_, and a thousand times worse than hell, for absolutely nothing, because he never did really manage to destroy the Ring, and that'sonly _interesting_, nothing more? Eloise looked almost ready to slap him if he said the wrong thing in reply.  
  
Harry flattened himself into his chair, shrinking away from her unconsciously. Hermione still looked blank.  
  
Look -- okay, I think I got the wrong word. Okay, Eloise? I didn't mean it! Harry dug around again for something appropriate. Not _interesting_... er... eventful? I don't really know what to call it, but it was just something _new_. It wasn't Voldemort, and it wasn't the Dark Arts, really, but it was big and powerful, and I just thought, you know, maybe I could do something useful again. Help someone else. You know how really great it feels to help someone? I just thought this would be another chance at that. Besides, he added, it would just be really cool to be able to see Middle-earth in real life.  
  
Eloise had to concede to that last bit, and even allowed herself a small smile.  
  
I agree.  
  
Harry looked sharply at Hermione, who was showing a hint of life, finally.  
  
What was that?  
  
I agree with you, Harry. I don't like this being cooped up. I never thought I'd say it, but I'm sick of books, and I'm especially sick of tests. Besides, the bridge-spell is _my_ theory, and I think I should get to test it. She was looking grim and determined. Harry stared.  
  
Er -- okay, then.  
  
Herm, what's up with you? Ron looked oddly at her. Is it your time of the month, or something? You're in a mood.  
  
No, Ron, she snapped. No mood. I'm going to bed, I'll talk tomorrow. With that, she got up and swept up the girls' staircase.  
  
Um... okay, Ron said, on the verge of making a sarcastic remark; but Harry broke in.  
  
Eloise -- you remember what you said about the ring influencing everyone without us knowing? She nodded. Well... I think you were right.  
  
Eloise had gone an odd off-white.  
  
Ron shook his head. Well, just as long as we don't end up with a castle full of Gollums. I don't trust that little bugger. Frodo's kind of thick, if you ask me, letting him take them through these marshes and all. He dies at the end, right? Ron looked suspiciously at Harry.  
  
I'm not telling! exclaimed Harry. And ruin the effect of reading it for the first time?  
  
Ron sighed exasperatedly.  
  
Well, I think Hermione's got one thing right, Eloise said suddenly, hopping up. We all ought to go to bed. If she's going to be up to something tomorrow, we should be prepared.  
  
Yeah, all right, Harry said vaguely. There was feeling he had just now... he couldn't shake it... she was right, he knew; he should get some rest, but he had a strange, intuitive notion that he might need to be prepared sooner than tomorrow.  
  
------------  
  
Harry dozed off uneasily that night. Dean had left the window cracked open a bit, as the house-elves had been a little overzealous with the Heating Charms again, and the towers were all like furnaces; but now the room had cooled off, and having the window open just made it ever more like a freezer. Harry found himself getting up around eleven o'clock to shut it. He didn't notice something odd outside.  
  
The world was darkling.  
  
It wasn't the shadow of night, or the coming of a storm: it was simply growing darker, and darker. The Forbidden Forest, which had always been hard to see, was now nothing more than a great smudge of black. The grounds were barely visible: only by the dull sheen of dew on the grass could you tell the world, the solid earth, even existed.  
  
But without his glasses, Harry blearily took the darkness for nothing more than a trick played by an unusually dull half-moon, and the fact that he was mostly asleep anyway.  
  
-------------  
  
He slept a while longer in peace; but sometime in the small hours of the morning, perhaps around two a.m., a faint shuffling at the foot of his bed made him stir. He was unaware of anything but the strange dream he was having, however: and the shuffling noise became to him nothing more than the soft sound of scratching at some dream-land door he was currently imagining in his subconscious mind.  
  
spoke the faintest whisper, and a trunk lid was opened on silent hinges.  
  
Hermione stole quietly away, under the safety and protection of Harry's Invisibility Cloak, carrying a copy of the Marauder's Map and her wand in one hand, and Harry's precious Firebolt in the other.  
  
-------------  
  
In the hour before dawn, Harry was startled out of restless sleep by the sharp and immediate feeling that _he had to go somewhere_, and quickly!  
  
He lunged out of bed and pulled on his robes from the previous day; and, in his absentness and preoccupation, managed to put them on backwards. He started to get into his slippers, but paused. Some odd feeling he couldn't describe was telling him to put on the dragonhide boots he'd bought last year. He complied with this feeling, and it seemed to be satisfied.  
  
He walked around to his trunk, pulled out his wand, and, to his immense discomfort, found that the lid was already unlocked. He opened it only to discover two of his most prized possessions missing. He went six shades paler in the dark.  
  
He shook Ron awake, a hand over his mouth to keep the boy quiet, and whispered in his ear to put on clothes and sturdy walking shoes, and follow him downstairs. Ron gave Harry an odd look, but nodded nonetheless. Harry crept down to the common room to wait for him and tried to figure out what to do.  
  
He had gotten his copy of the Marauder's Map out of his trunk, and now he examined it hastily, his eyes sweeping over the paper, searching for something out of the ordinary.  
  
He was standing in the common room, of course, and Ron was moving about in the dorm, but... he glanced at the seventh year girls' dorm on the map. Five beds had occupants, but one person was missing...  
  
he groaned to himself. With the ring's influence working on her, there was no telling what she could have done.  
  
A second glance at the same area told him something else of great importance, though.  
  
He spun around.  
  
Natalie McDonald stood on the girls' staircase, looking at Harry accusingly.  
  
What are you doing? she asked crossly, an odd expression on her face. Normally Natalie was quite timid and shy. You're going out, aren't you? What's that friend of yours, Hermione, what's she up to? I saw her leave a couple hours ago--  
  
Natalie -- Harry began exasperatedly, but was interrupted by Ron coming down the boys' stairs.  
  
Harry, what are you -- oh, hi, Natalie.  
  
Both Natalie and Harry blinked at the greeting.  
  
he asked indignantly. Can't I be friendly?  
  
__ said Harry softly, jabbing Ron in the ribs with an elbow. She's pulling a Neville.  
  
said Ron, catching on. He gave an apologetic wince.  
  
What are you two doing? Natalie repeated suspiciously.  
  
Oh -- nothing, said Harry, with an acutely guilty expression. Go back to bed.  
  
She said nothing, but walked stubbornly down the stairs towards them. Harry cursed Hermione mentally for taking his Invisibility Cloak.  
  
Natalie now stood directly in front of the two boys, her arms crossed. Ron swallowed despite the fact that the girl was three years younger, not to mention head-and-shoulders shorter, than him. She looked Harry up and down, and finally snapped, I suppose you did that, too.  
  
Harry followed her pointing finger, and found himself looking out the window with a hard sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.  
  
What the hell? Ron whispered, edging closer to the glass slowly, as if afraid of it.  
  
There was nothing there. The darkness was so thick that the world was completely pitch black. Not the faintest glimmer of light shone. Harry suddenly thought of the half-moon; dull as it was, it was still _there_...  
  
But it wasn't.  
  
Harry hit his head on the window pane. Something had gone terribly wrong with Hermione, he knew, but how could she do _this_? For the moon not to be there, she had either destroyed it -- or the sun itself. Or maybe she had put a veil over the world, or called on powers she shouldn't have. He banged his head again and groaned.  
  
asked Natalie, and Harry could now perceive the smallest glimpse of fear behind the harshness of her voice: of course, she was scared, and covering up for it.  
  
It would take a long time, Ron said slowly. There's -- there's no time now. We've got to go. Harry.  
  
Ron was already halfway to the portrait hole. Harry slipped the Marauder's Map carefully into his pocket, hidden from Natalie's sight, and only hoped that she hadn't seen it already. He followed Ron, pulling his cloak tighter about him. The window had been open for a long time. That blackness could have gotten inside, gotten to him, and -- he didn't know what it would do. But it didn't do to dwell on it. He shivered.  
  
Harry and Ron climbed through the portrait hole. At the last moment Harry turned back, and saw Natalie ascending the stairs to her dormitories. He stared at her back for a moment, then shut the Fat Lady behind himself.  
  
Do you think she'll try and follow us? Harry inquired of Ron quietly.  
  
Ron shook his head as if in a dream. Or maybe, Harry reflected, a nightmare. I - I don't think so. I'm not sure. What's Hermione _done?_  
  
I have no idea, Harry said shortly. He pulled out the Map again and peered at it, but the hall was too dim. He absently lit his wand, and he and Ron looked over the Map carefully.  
  
Nowhere in the castle... muttered Ron, squinting in the tiny, dim light.  
  
Wait -- by the tree, the tree we were in when Sirius -- oh, come on, Harry said in a rush, realizing, almost without looking, where his friend had gone. He stuffed the Map in his robes and he and Ron pelted (as quietly as possible) down the long hallways to the front doors.  
  
They heaved on the heavy oak doors until they gave and opened on silent hinges. Harry hesitated before stepping out into that awful, almost tangible darkness.  
  
He had been afraid it would hurt. That maybe he'd choke on it. Or it would be freezing cold, and he'd die of hypothermia, or whatever. His imagination, he often conceded, was too active for his own good.  
  
But it didn't hurt him; it didn't choke him; it didn't freeze him. In fact it was rather comfortable, like a nice deep, soft armchair. It was just over the line into uncomfortably cold, but it wasn't sub-zero. There was a sense of muffling silence; not stifling, not suppressing. It was more like being in a large, soundproof room than a having pillow held over his face. He relaxed almost instantly, as did Ron, who was only half a step behind him.  
  
Harry pulled his cloak tighter still, and took a step further. In that way that things look when you close your eyes, Harry imagined he could see little specks of blue and yellowy-white dancing around just out of sight.  
  
he said. He could have sworn he said it in a normal tone of voice, but it came out thin and diminished, just above a whisper.  
  
he tried again, loudly.  
  
came Ron's muffled voice.  
  
Can you hear me? Harry all but shouted.  
  
Ron yelled back.  
  
Harry turned, something of a difficult thing to do. It felt like little brittle strings in huge quantities were binding him to the blackness, and every time he moved, tens of thousands of them snapped and instantly regrew while he was in his new position.  
  
He couldn't see Ron at all. He blinked. He looked down at his hand -- but he couldn't see that either. Even when he brought it to within an inch of his nose, nothing could be made out in this thick blackness of the fingers he was waving in front of his eyes.  
  
Please tell me you're not blind, Harry shouted, half-heartedly.  
  
Can't see a thing, said Ron. He sounded a bit closer now. How many paces is it to the first step?  
  
The front steps! Harry cursed to himself, but the darkness swallowed the sound. I never paid attention, he yelled back.  
  
came a third voice, thinner and higher than the two boys'. You never pay attention, do you? Not in class, not anywhere --  
  
Ron groaned loudly. Harry told you to go to bed.  
  
Just because you're the big famous Harry Potter doesn't mean you're the only person in the castle with an Invisibility Cloak, she shouted angrily. I've got Professor Lupin with me, and --  
  
It's all right, Miss McDonald, calm yourself. Harry, what is going on? Lupin's measured voice struggled through the darkness to their ears. Somehow, he managed to make what he was saying loud and clear without having to yell.  
  
Hermione's doing something, Harry said, pulling his cloak up tighter to fight the growing cold. Has Dumbledore --  
  
I was at the staff meeting, yes, he called. She's attempting the bridge alone?  
  
I think so, said Harry. I don't really understand it -- is this supposed to happen?  
  
It's difficult to explain, but yes, if she is trying that particular spell, I think she's doing it right, Lupin called.  
  
What are you talking about? Natalie yelled angrily. I think if you're going to go smothering the world I ought to know about it, I have to live like a _normal_ person, for heaven's sake, how am I supposed to do that when I'm blind and can't move and--  
  
Shut up, Natalie! cried Ron. We're going looking for Hermione. Come or don't, but the sooner we find her, the sooner this'll stop! He added in a mutter, to himself; I hope.  
  
Something touched Harry's shoulder. said Lupin reassuringly, close enough not to have to call out. Harry, are you certain of this?  
  
She took my Firebolt and my cloak, and she's out by the tree where Sir -- by a tree on the grounds. I know where it is. But she can't do this spell alone! She'll get hurt! She's smart and all, but this is too big --  
  
It takes two people at the least to work it, interrupted Lupin. Someone must be helping her. Do you know if she has the ring?  
  
No clue, said Harry. Probably... but Dumbledore would have had it hidden?  
  
He brought it out to show the staff at the meeting, said Lupin, and Harry could all but see the frown on his face. I don't know how she would have used such an opportunity, but she is clever, and does not draw much attention when she doesn't want to. Does lighting your wand help?  
  
Harry started at the abrupt change of subject, and pulled out his wand.  
  
he said loudly.  
  
The light at the end of the wand was just visible, but was not much more than another little yellow speck in Harry's field of vision.  
  
Lupin murmured, so low Harry thought he imagined it for a moment. He conjured a handful of crackling blue flames, again only barely visible. There was silence for another minute, with some muffled sounds of shuffling.  
  
Lupin spoke again, louder. I happened to have a stub of candle here, and I lit it just now. Did you see the light?  
  
said Harry slowly. What's that blue --  
  
That is the magical fire, said Lupin, that I used to light the candle. Magic, he repeated, is the only thing you can see through this veil. Natural light doesn't show. It makes sense. I shan't explain now. Show me where your tree is, Harry, I'd like to see Hermione myself -- and whoever is helping her.  
  
_Lumos magnificus,_ Harry murmured to his wand. The light on the end grew to what was normally a flaring brilliance too bright to look at, dwarfing the sun itself. Under this muffling blackness, he could make out his surroundings for a diameter of about two feet by the dim light.  
  
Ron and Lupin followed his example. Staying within their circle of light, the three walked across the lawns carefully to avoid tripping on the uneven ground. Natalie followed stubbornly behind them, walking right in the fringe of their light.  
  
The darkness seemed to follow them as they and their lights moved along, and it unnerved Harry immensely. Trying not to look over his shoulder every few seconds, he produced the Map from his robes once more, and instantly found the tree he and Hermione had sat in a few weeks ago to listen to Sirius's story.  
  
He almost pulled up short at the names labeling the six little black dots that were huddled around the trunk of the tree.  
  
Oh... boy, he muttered.  
  
Did you say something, Harry? asked Lupin, turning: he had walked right past Harry without noticing. The faint, colorless illumination made him look more like a ghost than a human; he did tend to be rather pale anyway. Natalie bumped into Ron, who had stopped abruptly in his tracks to look at Harry questioningly.  
  
Hermione's there, Harry said, louder. Er... with a bunch of other people. He looked at the sheet again and groaned. Looks like we missed all the drama, he added.  
  
Who's there? asked Lupin, looking concerned.  
  
Hermione... Sirius... Eloise, Harry said slowly, as if he didn't want to say the next three names. Malfoy and Snape, he went on in a rush. Ron groaned, and Lupin's frown grew deeper.  
  
The sixth? Lupin asked, sounding like it was the end of the world. Which, Harry thought dismally, it very well might be. He looked out into the darkness beyond their little sphere.  
  
It doesn't make any sense, Harry moaned.  
  
Who's the sixth person? asked Ron fervently.  
  
Not a person... Dobby. The house-elf. Harry looked at Ron, winced, and shrugged despairingly.  
  
A house-elf? Lupin repeated, his forehead deeply furrowed. The shadows cast by his small light made him look even more haggard. Suddenly the wrinkles cleared, replaced by a look of utmost horror. Oh... Lord. Dobby... that's the one that gets paid? The free one? You freed him, didn't you, Harry?  
  
Harry nodded, bewildered.  
  
Oh no, Lupin groaned. He snatched the Map from Harry and examined it quickly. He mouthed silently for a moment; then turned and bolted in the direction of the tree and the six people around it.  
  
said Ron sarcastically. He's officially lost it. What can _Dobby_ do? He snorted for emphasis.  
  
He can teleport, he can knock someone over by pointing at them, he can make the Platform 9 3/4 barrier close off schedule, Harry said slowly, catching on. And he can enchant a Bludger to go after one person in particular. Did you sleep through Lupin's lesson on house-elves? They're extremely powerful... but they're slaves, so they can't use their power without permission from their masters... During this Harry had begun to walk on in the direction Lupin had gone, and by the word masters' he was running at top speed.  
  
But Dobby's free, said Ron, looking after Harry's back as if his friend had gone completely starkers.  
  
Natalie had paled visibly, even in this darkness, and was looking wide-eyed towards the place where Harry and Lupin had vanished. She gave Ron a frightened sneer and shoved past him, lighting her wand as she went. she growled, and pelted along after Harry and Professor Lupin.  
  
asked Ron, bewildered.  
  
Then the light came on. His eyes widened and he was soon on Natalie's heels.  
  
----------  
  
Harry, Ron and Natalie never made it to the tree. There was a huge, reverberating ripple, like a silent supersonic boom. All those brittle strings, like the rough side of Velcro, that Harry had been imagining were holding him down, snapped instantaneously.  
  
The muffled silence went out with a monstrous, soundless bang, and Harry was knocked over by the force of it.  
  
He had already blacked out by the time the soft, cold darkness shivered up into fog; then a light mist; then nothingness. He didn't see the gray light of dawn filtering out over the world, or taste the suddenly fresher air.  
  
A bird began to cry out harshly in the tree under which Hermione and six others had been; but it had no audience. Ten people had been outside last night. Now three of them were unconscious.  
  
And seven were dead.  
-----------  
  
A/N: MWUAHAHAHA. Er. Um. Please don't kill me. Chapter Eight is well embedded in my mind: all there is to do is type it up. I won't leave you hanging for too long. *evil author grin*


	8. Convergence

A/N: I have a fire ant bite on my toe, AND IT HURTS LIKE HELL. Never go outside barefoot in Mississippi during spring or summer.  
  
The major thing to note is that you shouldn't be too nitpicky about the times I keep giving at various intervals in this chpt. All the scenes are not precisely in chronological order, and there was one phrase I used in chpt 7 -- I think it was something like, Harry woke up in the hour before dawn -- that really needs to be taken very elastically, if that's even a word. It's just a figure of speech here. The actual time was probably more like 3:45 or so.  
  
Oh, yeah, the way I mentioned chapter six was a bit influenced by Dickens? Um. Now I'm reading Terry Pratchett. Yeah. Big jump, but, again, I've tried my best to keep my reading and writing separate.  
  
I know the accepted way of writing HP fic (for me, anyway) is to do it the same style as the books themselves: 3rd person narrative, but you follow Harry around all the time, so you don't see what other people are doing when they're out of Harry's sight. That's pretty much what I've been doing all along here, with a few exceptions. Now I'm going to break with tradition -- it's necessary from here on out, what with different groups of people being in different universes. This chapter is the that Harry speculates he's missed in the last chpt. So, rewind, people... back to the boys' dorm; the breakin...  
  
------------  
Chapter Eight: Convergence  
------------  
  
_  
_  
Hermione lifted Harry's Invisibility Cloak and Firebolt out of his trunk. Harry grunted and shifted in his sleep. She froze, but only for a moment.  
  
She was no longer afraid. Fear was immaterial. She had always been the most intelligent, clever person in the school, and it had pained her immensely to lose the title of Head Girl to some cocky Ravenclaw this year. She was always the one who knew what to do. She was the crutch everyone else leaned on; the giant on whose shoulders they stood to see the world.  
  
Well, this was the end for them. Her lip twisted in the dark, a face of utter disgust. She would be no one's crutch. She was Hermione Granger, and she deserved what it was in her power to take! Always under appreciated; but never again, now. She had proved herself better than Dumbledore and McGonagall put together: she had invented the bridge-spell; she could travel between dimensions. _She_ could, and would!  
  
What she hadn't told Dumbledore was that her calculations had led to the conclusion that the bridge-spell could do far more than build a bridge. If used correctly, it could rip entire universes apart at the fundamental seams. Her grin twisted further.  
  
She'd have her precious ring, yes, she would. Dumbledore couldn't keep it from her. Viktor had sent it to her alone. And it _was hers alone_.  
  
Her Christmas present!  
  
She snickered as she closed the door of the seventh year boys' dorm behind her. Now, to business...  
  
She crept through the common room, and into the hall. The muffler was establishing itself; it took several hours to weave itself together, but it had already been at work for many. She had begun the spell at ten o'clock. It would be complete at two-thirty. There was no point in destroying this world yet: she might need a base of operations, and she knew this terrain. The muffler would absorb the effects of building and crossing the bridge. That large a rip in time and space... that much power... Hermione felt almost giddy at the thought of what she was about to do.  
  
She glanced out a window. Oh, yes, the muffler was coming along nicely. It was now completely pitch outside.  
  
She paused to collect her mind. She would retrieve her precious and lure out the house-elf, and when it struck half-past, she would go out to the tree where she had made the initial preparations. The elf would provide power alone: she could rid herself of it as soon as she was in Middle-earth.  
  
She flung the Cloak about her shoulders and strode confidently towards Dumbledore's office. She had been at that staff meeting, hiding and listening, when everyone else thought she was asleep; and she knew precisely where the ring was being kept.  
  
The gargoyle leered at her in the dark. She pulled herself up to her full height and spoke a few words of power. The statue slunk away, and Hermione ascended the steps within.  
  
Without bothering to announce her presence, she laid her hand on the doorknob: of course, it was locked. She bared her teeth and sent such a jolt into the locking spells as had never been seen before in that school. They dissolved instantly. Yes, everyone had always underestimated her...  
  
The office was empty. Dumbledore's bedchambers were on the other side of the castle. Hermione silenced the warning song of the phoenix Fawkes with a mere wave of her hand. She could feel the power invested in the One Ring beckoning, feeling for her. Filling her with its magic, boosting her power. Such a warm feeling...  
  
She smiled grimly and closed her eyes. Within moments she had found the piece of false wall hiding her precious from sight. A couple of the portraits were stirring and looking worriedly at her, but she made them mute with no effort whatsoever.  
  
Dumbledore had put binding spells on her precious! She scowled, and called out mentally to it: it answered with a fresh wave of invigoration, drawing on her power to help itself; making them one and the same. She eagerly melded herself with it, power-hungry and feeling as though she had been starved for years. Precious corroded the spells like rust through iron: it corrupted them, and drew them into itself, storing more power. Hermione lifted it gingerly out of its hiding-place, stroked it lovingly, and slipped it on her finger. It was the perfect size.  
  
She seemed to grow to twice her height; she wrapped herself in a monstrous shadow of power she didn't really have. She fell wretchedly under the control of the One Ring, and she did it with all helping hands. The Invisibility Cloak was no longer needed. She wrapped the Firebolt in it and proceeded to the door: the stairs: the corridor; all with air of unerring confidence and superiority.  
  
Her smile grew wider, and did not lose its twist, as she made her way towards the kitchens.  
  
-------  
  
Eloise had gotten up to use the bathroom. Some idiot had flushed a bunch of newsprint down the girls' dorm's toilets, and it had plugged up half the plumbing in the Hufflepuff wing of the castle.  
  
It was unusually dark. She blundered through the common room and into the hall, wiping her eyes and squinting. She wore a very old, unflattering bathrobe of faded pinks, purples, and the odd splash of burgundy, all in an abstract pattern that did nothing whatsoever for her fine red hair. She had never bothered to get a new one, because, well, who was going to see her? Only the girls in her dorm ever saw her in it, she was very careful of that. She'd had quite enough of being a laughingstock in her life, and now she was finally making a name for herself, she'd like to keep it that way.  
  
By the light of the torches in sconces lining the walls, she managed to make it to the nearest toilet. She could see herself only faintly in the bathroom mirror, and the image was distorted: this was not a prefects' bathroom, and years of pranking, fights, and general wear and tear had left the mirrors in the public restrooms cracked, broken, and spattered with everything from tarnish to toothpaste.  
  
Eloise finished washing her hands and opened the door. She stepped over the threshold.  
  
And, in that utter darkness, ran smack into someone coming down the hall.  
  
she grunted. I'm sorry -- hey, it's dark, isn't it? Are you okay?  
  
No answer.  
  
Eloise said nervously. The lack of light was finally getting through to her. _It shouldn't be this dark... there was no new moon tonight...  
_  
said a voice she almost didn't recognize. It sounded familiar... but something was very wrong with it.  
  
she said momentarily, placing the voice. Is something wrong?  
  
A faint red light began to shimmer in the direction Hermione's voice had been coming from, outlining her silhouette in stark contrast. Eloise shifted uncertainly.  
  
Hermione, what's up? she began, but was cut off by the other girl.  
  
We will not answer you, mortal, Hermione's changed voice hissed.  
  
Eloise began to back away. Hermione was more than a black figure now; Eloise could make out her face in part, and it chilled her straight through. Her Gryffindor friend was certainly not herself -- Eloise glanced down -- and there was the problem.  
  
Eloise gasped in fear and turned to run. A glint of gold showed on Hermione's finger: the Ring! Eloise didn't know how she had gotten it, but this was not the time to question. If Hermione was wearing the ring -- but was still visible -- in the books only Sauron could wear the ring without the side effect of vanishing --  
  
Eloise had the chance to take about four steps before a blast of raw power hit her in the back, and she fell to the floor. The blackness she saw now was deeper than any in the castle or grounds that night: the pitch of total oblivion.  
  
----------  
  
Stupid Potter, and his stupid bloody friends.  
  
Draco Malfoy leaned on the sill of one of the windows in the corridor just outside the Slytherin dungeons. He couldn't sleep; and only when he had come up here, above ground, and looked out the window, had he realized what it was that felt so terribly wrong; what it was that had been nagging him for hours now.  
  
It was about three in the morning, and where normally the Forbidden Forest would loom, vast and dark, with the treetops glinting in the moonlight, there was nothing. The great black lake was also gone. As was, apparently, the entire world. There was nothing outside the window but a solid, smothering blackness.  
  
Draco just _knew_ Potter had done this. It was always Potter: perfect Potter, _prefect_ Potter. Draco hadn't been made a prefect until this year, where Harry had been one since fifth year. Headmasters weren't supposed to favor any students more than the others, but Harry was nothing better than Dumbledore's pet... or even the other way around. Perfect Harry Potter, the superhero, who had everyone else wrapped around his little finger.  
  
There was no moonlight to reflect off of Draco's bitter tears.  
  
He didn't invite friendship, sure. He didn't like people, really. He'd always followed Father's example, and it seemed to get him where he wanted to go. Other people were just baggage he could afford to lose. At least that was what Father had always said.  
  
But now Lucius was in Azkaban. How'd he get there? Surely his way of living, the life he'd taught to Draco, couldn't have gotten him there? Was it really that flawed? Draco loathed the thought: _if_ it was was, and it truly was, he knew -- then Draco had the same flaws. And he didn't know how to fix them, because part of the essence of everything Father had taught him was to never ask for help; to never show weakness.  
  
Draco was simply not a people-person. It was the fault of nurture rather than nature, but over the years, in his subconscious, he had convinced himself it was his nature. He was a Malfoy, before and after all else: never give in; never disgrace the family name; never stoop to the level of your inferiors, and everyone was your inferior unless they were pureblood wizards educated in the house of Slytherin.  
  
He sneered angrily in the dark, and swiped furiously at his eyes. What was he doing? _A Malfoy never cried.  
_  
Even that idiot Fudge likes Potter, he thought, trying to keep himself in a healthy state of rage. It always worked on keeping any sentimental weaknesses at bay. Harry can get away with anything, and now look, he's gone and blown the world into oblivion!  
  
Draco stood up straight and glared out the window a bit longer. Finally he came to a conclusion.  
  
He went back into the dungeons. When Lucius had been incarcerated, the Ministry had allowed Draco to keep his father's old Invisibility Cloak. Draco hadn't even known about it until it had been turned over to him. Now he took it from his trunk with a twisted grin, knowing that Potter was no longer the only one in the castle with such a treasure.  
  
Back in the passage he dislodged a flaming torch from its sconce and held it aloft. The blackness outside did not reflect its light, but seemed to absorb it. In any case, he could see no better out the windows now than he could with no light on hand at all. He shied away from the windows nervously and began heading towards Professor Snape's office. He had never once fallen out of favor with the Professor, and now that Father was gone, Draco wasn't sure who else to turn to. In any case, Severus hated Harry as much as anyone, and he'd be sure to help...  
  
-------  
  
The door to the kitchens, disguised as a still painting of a bowl of fruit, burst open. Several house-elves nearby looked up nervously at the person striding through. A few thought they recognized her, but they dismissed the idea almost straight off. She was very powerful, they could tell; and she meant business.  
  
Bring me Dobby, she snapped to one elf, standing and counting a huge carton of eggs with nimble, bony fingers. The elf squeaked, scared of the woman -- she was wearing a ring that gave her a bad feeling, a very bad feeling indeed. If this was another thing that crazy Dobby had gotten into -- a free elf, the sheer absurdity! And being paid! Dobby could just handle this himself. The little elf backed off, wringing her ears submissively, and turned to get Dobby from the other room where he was setting up his next batch of Heating Charms.  
  
There he was, and, as usual, he was overdoing things. The little she-elf shook her head and whispered something to him, pulling on his overlarge maroon sweater, some gift or other from a student. Her large blue eyes bulged with fear.  
  
Dobby's eyes widened as he heard the news. He hesitated before going out the door, and the she-elf shook her head worriedly once more, and dragged him out by an ear.  
  
Finally he came out, head down, looking at the floor and wringing his hands behind his back.  
Is there something Dobby can do for sir? he said piteously.  
  
I need your help, Dobby, came the cold reply. Dobby looked up suddenly and his squashed face broke into a huge, gap-toothed smile.  
  
Miss Hermione! Dobby squeaked. Biddy is saying you is from the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, miss! They is not liking Dobby much... they is coming to see him over the summer. They has bad things to say to master Dumbledore. Dobby looked dark. They is saying Dobby should not be paid. Help, miss? He looked up hopefully at her.  
  
Hermione leered down at him. Yes. Help, Dobby. Come into the hall.  
  
Dobby's smile flickered. He looked from Hermione's hard face to the hand she had clenched into a fist; the hand with a golden ring on the middle finger.  
  
Dobby is having to help cook breakfast soon, miss, he said doubtfully.  
  
It can wait, Hermione hissed. Come with me.  
  
Miss Hermione, something is wrong? Dobby asked, tennis ball sized eyes looking widely and innocently into her face. She sneered.  
  
Nothing is wrong. Dumbledore would wish you to obey.  
  
Dobby's ears twitched, but eventually he complied and scrambled out into the hall.  
  
Hermione shut the portrait behind her and looked at Dobby with a wide, twisted grin. Now, elf, this won't hurt a bit -- She raised her hand, and power sparked around the Ring; that hand was currently the deadliest weapon conceivable by any highly skilled war-trained wizard that world had ever known --  
  
Miss Hermione! Dobby squealed, terrified. Something _is_ wrong, Miss Hermione, something _is_ wrong! Please don't be hurting Dobby --  
  
The energy cracked out and lanced towards the tiny, pitiful house-elf --  
  
NO, Miss! Dobby cried, and raised his little arms awkwardly over his oversized head, hands open, palms outward.  
  
The raw, dark magic reflected off of the wretched little creature. There was a small explosion of furious, broken, tumbling magic -- and then, without warning, it stopped.  
  
The kitchen door portrait was flung open by Biddy the house-elf. Dobby, what is you doing? _Dobby?_  
  
The fact is, any average house-elf is really too simple-minded to understand the sight that met the overlarge blue eyes of Biddy. Dobby sat squeaking and whimpering on the floor, his face buried in his spindly hands, shuddering convulsively. An unconscious girl with straight red hair lay sprawled on her back on the stone next to the little elf. And suddenly, another girl appeared out of thin air, with a look of such horror and revulsion that Biddy was completely taken aback.  
  
Hermione tore the ring off her finger as fast as she could and threw it away with all her strength, down the length of the corridor. It hit the stairs a long way off, and landed solidly, without so much as one bounce on the flagstones.  
  
She knew exactly what had been happening to her, now. She stared in the direction the ring had gone, horror-struck. A tear born of mixed emotions -- something between confusion, terror, and loneliness -- worked its way down her cheek, and she backed into the wall of the corridor, using it as leverage to sink onto her knees.  
  
Somehow, Dobby had broken it. Broken the ring's hold over her. She must have gotten more big-headed than she'd ever imagined was possible, and completely underestimated the power of a free house-elf. Dobby had saved hundreds of universes from tyranny and destruction without even knowing it. All he had done was unconsciously try to protect himself.  
  
a squeaky elf-voice seemed to be calling from a distance. Dobby, what has you _done?_ Oh, Dobby, oh, Dobby, you is in such trouble -- Hermione's wide-eyed stare came slowly around until it was facing another elf with blue eyes, wearing the usual Hogwarts tea-towel-uniform. This elf was hopping around from foot to foot and wringing her ears with fright. Several more elves were gathered at the door and were looking on with abounding curiosity and more than a little fear.  
  
Several minutes passed before Hermione pulled herself together enough to stand up shakily and address the house-elves.  
  
It's -- it's all right, she said, wavering a little and having to put out her hand to the wall for support. It's all fine. Dobby's done a very good thing. Go on -- back to work. She waited until the last elf had gone back inside the kitchens, (looking very dubious of the whole matter) and went over to Dobby, collapsing to her knees the moment she was by his side.  
  
She tried her best to comfort the elf, but he jerked whenever she touched him, and he never let his face out of his hands.  
  
You is a _bad_ miss, he kept repeating.  
  
No, Dobby, I'm not, she said, on the verge of tears herself. Honestly. There's a ring, Dobby, a very, very bad ring, and it was controlling me --  
  
_Bad_ miss, he sobbed, rocking back and forth.  
  
Dobby, you have to listen! she cried. The ring -- the ring makes anybody who wants it too much go bad! I wanted it, because someone gave it to me, and it made me into a bad person. A very, very bad person. Dobby, are you listening?  
  
He shook his head and went on sobbing.  
  
But you made it go away, Dobby, you fixed it, she wheedled. You did a good thing. I'm better, I am, really. Dobby? Dobby, I still need your help. If you don't help me, the ring will make everyone bad. Harry will be bad, Dumbledore will be bad! Winky and, and Biddy, and all the other elves will be bad elves! They'll hate working! They'll all have a revolt, and all the students and teachers will try and kill each other. Don't you remember what war was like, Dobby? So many people got killed, and if you don't help me, it'll happen again...  
  
Dobby finally looked up into her face with that ugly, but somehow incredibly endearing, face. His green tennis ball eyes bulged with fear.  
  
War again, miss? he whispered. Oh, no, miss, Dobby doesn't want another war. A lot of Dobby's friends died in You-Know-Who's war. Dobby can help stop another war?  
  
Yes, Dobby, Hermione whispered back, and a smile came over her face. You can help. You're the only one who can help. To Dobby's complete surprise, she put her arms around the elf's small neck and gave him a hug. He hugged her arm back, being unable to reach around any other part of her.  
  
Dobby will help, then, he said decisively. Harry Potter and Master Dumbledore mustn't go bad. Dobby likes them, and they is nice to Dobby. Dobby won't allow them to have another war.  
  
Thank you, Hermione said with an extra squeeze of the elf's neck. She stood up, composed herself briefly, and helped Dobby to his feet.  
  
She frowned momentarily. Dobby, do you -- do you think you could get some food from the kitchens? A pretty good bit, and wrapped up for traveling. I'm -- I'm afraid that if you help me, you'll be gone from Hogwarts for a long time. So... pack anything you might need.  
  
Dobby looked a little sad, and his ears drooped, but he said again that he wouldn't let there be another war, and went inside to get what Hermione required.  
  
Hermione frowned. It was too late now to turn back. She looked darkly in the direction the ring had been thrown, and felt more than a little reluctant and afraid to go down the hall that way. She edged hesitantly towards the stairs at the end of the hall.  
  
The ring lay there, on the third step up, a small, bright, golden object. It was warm, inviting...  
  
Hermione almost tripped over her own feet in her haste to back away.  
  
That was _it_. She was going to Middle-earth tonight, Dumbledore or no Dumbledore. She would bring Dobby, because he'd be the ultimate help in doing the bridge spell. House-elves were so powerful that not even the most talented of wizards had ever been able to map the structure of their magic. Somehow it was bound up by enslavery, and they had simply evolved to be slaves: if they hadn't, the dominant species on the planet would, with almost full certainty, have been house-elves. Dobby, on the other hand, was a free house-elf -- perhaps the only one. He had full use of his powers, and those were unfathomable. Hermione was certain that his mere presence in the vicinity of the performance of this spell would ensure that it had all the power boost it needed. Generally at least two or three quite powerful human wizards would have to work on it for a whole 24-hour day. Hermione hoped to have it completed in less than 10 hours.  
  
She'd already raided Snape's office for supplies she needed. She'd gathered some wood from the forest for the fire that was required. The muffler should be completed by now; it was two forty-five, according to her watch. She had done everything but pack. She winced. That was what she hadn't expected to need to do -- while the ring was working its will on her, all she had thought of was power and destruction. Now she had power and destruction on her mind all right -- Dobby's power, and the ring's destruction. She had to go to Middle-earth and get rid of the thing before it could do anything to anyone else: there simply was no more time for waiting. The ring wanted bloodshed, and who was to deny it? Only Hermione knew what had to be done, and had the conviction to do it.  
  
She leant forward again, and this time, she rebuked the ring's invitations with all her will. She battered at it mentally, holding it at bay. She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket, folded it to a four-layer thickness, and picked up the ring carefully within it. Then she tied a complicated double knot that even this evil little sucker wouldn't break anytime soon. She pocketed it, and sighed with the beginnings of relief. But... she could still feel the weight of it... tugging at her pocket...  
  
She hitched her robes up defiantly and turned on her heel. There she froze.  
  
Eloise! What on earth was she to do with Eloise? She couldn't just leave her here... put her back in her dorm? Order the elves to take her to her bed? Hermione winced and looked at Eloise through narrowed eyes. The blast Hermione had used to knock the girl out was enough to merit her a visit to the hospital wing...  
  
But she didn't have _time_ now to hassle with Madam Pomfrey! Hermione fidgeted and fought the urge to whimper. Why'd that stupid ring have to go and make this harder than it ought to be? She stamped her foot angrily, trying to stay on target and avoid thoughts of the ring in her pocket.  
  
She could... take Eloise with her?  
  
If she was going to Middle-earth, she could, by use of the variables in her spell, tweak around with the space dimension, and hopefully land them in Rivendell. She aimed to get to the world after Frodo and Elrond and the others had already left it, departing from the land by way of taking a boat across the Sundering Seas. But still, there had to be someone left in Rivendell who knew some medicine? Or did _everyone_ leave Rivendell? She frowned; she wasn't sure there. Of course, she could always go to Lorien. Celeborn had stayed behind... maybe...  
  
Well, any elf would do, she eventually concluded. Anyway, Eloise had always wanted to see Middle-earth. She'd said so herself, many times, while Hermione had still been compiling her bridge spell. Maybe Hermione would make all her dreams come true. Hermione rolled her eyes at that last thought.  
  
Well, it was decided. She'd take Eloise with her. A larger number of people would probably fare better in the wild, anyway. I mean, look at the Fellowship, she thought desperately. They had nine!  
  
The backwards logic of this did not occur to her at the time.  
  
She went over to the inert girl, took a deep breath, and muttered a Displacement Charm. What the hell. It wasn't as if she were being stingy with the magic tonight, anyway.  
  
Eloise disappeared with a whoosh of air equalizing pressure. Hermione waited in the hall until Dobby came back out with a great sack of food, packed in what looked like a makeshift backpack made out of a large burlap flour sack and two of Dobby's mismatched belts for shoulder straps. The elf was so short that when he wore it, the bottom dragged on the floor. He was carrying a bundle of odd items carefully wrapped up in another of Ron's old sweaters, and looked up at Hermione expectantly as he came out.  
  
I is ready, Miss, he said, shifting the backpack uncomfortably.  
  
Okay, Dobby, I'm going to use a charm now that'll send you right to where you need to be. It's outside. Eloise'll be there, but she's unconscious. Don't touch anything, just wait for me to come out to you. Got it? He nodded. She murmured another Displacement Charm and he vanished with the familiar rush.  
  
Well, then, she muttered. We're off to see the wizard, I guess.  
  
She made her way out of the underground floor housing the kitchen and dungeons, and continued on to her dorm room, thinking bitterly all the while of yellow brick roads and the ungodly weight in her pocket.  
  
---------  
  
Sirius threw a couple of light bags down into the Divination classroom, then jumped down after them. He sat still for a moment, looking at his broom, his belongings... he really hated having to keep Harry in the dark, but as it didn't feel right to do this anyway, he had decided long ago not to muck it up even further by telling his godson.  
  
Surely Harry had wondered why Sirius never brought any luggage when he came to visit for the holidays. It was because Sirius hardly ever really left. He was so lonely, out in his untidy little place near Ottery St. Catchpole. Even being cleared and all that. Propaganda dies hard when it's so old that its been accepted as truth by almost everyone in the world he'd once thought he'd known... he was not an innocent man in a lot of peoples' minds. And to be honest, he wasn't all that innocent. All his school years were proof enough. Some of those pranks were hardly all in fun... he had used, _consciously used,_ his reputation as a joker, to get revenge on people he didn't much care for. Snape, Malfoy, all those little Slytherin buggers -- some Ravenclaws -- some teachers -- hell, even a few of his dormmates. He sat in the heavily perfumed classroom and shook his head sadly. He had been so _stupid...  
_  
His background did not lend itself to making friends. He currently had one good friend, and that was Remus. Well, and Harry; that made two.  
  
Dumbledore understood it all, of course, and was sympathetic. He let Sirius stay at Hogwarts, in the rather spacious attic at the very point of the North Tower, whenever it got too much for him to stay at home alone -- which was most of the time. He had enough money to keep up with life in the real world... he didn't have a job, but that was fine with him. He didn't really like people much anymore. They didn't like him, anyway, so he supposed it was mutual.  
  
But this business of the ring had him concerned. He'd decided to go home for a while, see if he had anything that could help. He had quite a collection of books, actually, a lot of them James' old things that had been left to his best friend in the will Sirius had never known he'd written. Sirius preferred to leave in the middle of the night, when no one would be watching. He'd already told Dumbledore where he was off to.  
  
Finally he stood up, stretched a bit, and went over to a window. He frowned. He kept track of the lunar calendar very closely, and tonight was certainly not a new moon. Why was it so dark out?  
  
He pulled out his wand and lit it, peering out the window. The little light barely made a dent in the darkness.  
  
_Estella directivus,_ he muttered. Whoever invented that spell had his languages mixed up, he thought absently. Wait a second... he frowned. James had invented that spell. In third year.  
  
A beam of bright, concentrated magic shot out of his wand into the darkness. He looked over the grounds, not really expecting to see anything out of place. It was just a little dark out, that was all...  
  
He jerked in surprise. There was someone down there... He tried to find them again with the light, which had gotten off place... yes, there. Far out, by the forest. He couldn't make out any details, because the light was so faint, but there were certainly two human figures, and one was moving... doing something.  
  
he sighed to his wand. The light went out. It was probably just some kids doing something they shouldn't be... He closed the trapdoor in the ceiling, which was disguised to fit in perfectly with the stone, and went over to the other one, in the floor. Lowering the little silver ladder, he once again followed his luggage down to the next floor.  
  
Sirius slung one bag over his shoulder and held the other by the handle. His broomstick, a fairly new model in the Cleansweep series, was tucked under his arm. As he walked briskly towards the entrance hall he decided he'd do Dumbledore a bit of a favor and find those kids on the ground, break up whatever they were doing, and send them to bed before he went on his way. He had to get to Hogsmeade pretty soon in order to be able to patch that whole debt thing up with the guys at the Hog's Head and still Apparate home before sunrise.  
  
Sighing, he opened the front doors and stepped out.  
  
That checked him, but only momentarily. He'd done some similar things, on a smaller scale, when he was younger. He shifted his broom and waved his arm about in the air, testing the rough Velcro feeling. Yes, this was definitely some sort of sheet spell. You used them to absorb the effects of a stronger charm, so, say, you could put a sheet spell about your wand, and when you performed Avada Kedavra, there would be no green light, no flash, no rush of air... simply a dead person at your feet...  
  
Sirius had seen it done once. Only once. He shuddered at the memory.  
  
But this one was not impervious to all sorts of magic; light had shown under it. Sirius suspected that any natural light wouldn't, but the light of a spell would. He murmured _lumos magnificus_ to his wand and satisfied that answer.  
  
It must have been specifically designed, he concluded, to absorb the refraction of some specialized kind of magic. A general sheet spell, or muffler, as some would call it, did away with light first thing. (Sirius was very good with the technicalities of magic.)  
  
Well, they had to be doing something big, then, whoever they were. He walked cautiously into the dark, going by memory towards the place he thought he'd seen them standing. They'd been by a tree. It seemed... a familiar spot... oh, yes, he'd told Harry and Hermione all about Remus in that tree.  
  
It was probably just a coincidence that these troublemakers had picked it to work under.  
  
-----------  
  
I'm sorry to get you up so late, Professor, Draco Malfoy began. He was feeling rather nervous, now. Professor Snape stood before him in the hall, almost indistinguishable from the shadows in his regular black robes, with his shadowed face, and black eyes that reflected no light, as there was none left to reflect.  
  
Snape turned to face the teenager, a smooth movement that caught Draco unawares. The only part of Snape that was visible was his sallow, almost gaunt face. He was wearing dark dragon-hide gloves, and his fingers twitched spasmodically, as if he itched to put them around something which more than likely would have a pulse, be flesh-colored, and serve to attach one's head to one's body.  
  
Fear, boy, he said silkily. Don't let it get to you. He turned again and began walking towards the entrance hall. In fact, I thank you for alerting me to Potter's new nighttime activities. I'm sure I will be able to make Professor Dumbledore see reason this time. I'll need a witness, of course; had I had one in the boy's third year, he would certainly be gone now, and that idiot Black would be where he belongs, locked up. Come along, Draco.  
  
Yes, sir, Draco muttered. You know, he thought, without Lucius here, Professor Snape isn't nearly so nice as he used to be.  
  
He walked along behind the Professor, feeling rather like a mark for a sniper next to Snape, who moved more like a cat than anything. Draco was sure he could only hear one set of footsteps, and those were his own: they were loud and clumsy to his ears. He put a nervous hand to his almost-white hair, and swallowed, tense.  
  
Deep in his bones, he knew something big was about to happen. Snape had already said that this darkness was but a prelude to the actual magic, and that hopefully they'd catch Potter before he could proceed to that. But Draco knew, somehow, that that wasn't going to happen.  
  
Perhaps he had finally discovered what it meant to learn from experience. The easy way _never_ works.  
  
----------  
  
Hermione looked moodily into the space where her fire was currently making a muffled crackling sound.  
  
She had lit hers and Eloise's wands and stuck them in tree branches nearby, but there still wasn't nearly enough light to see what she was doing. She had sparked a fire as best she could... it had to be a natural flame, so she couldn't use a spell. Suddenly she had appreciated the Fellowship a whole lot more; they'd done that every day. Of course, they probably had a better method than hitting rocks together, or at least they were better with rocks than she was. It was now nearing three-fifteen; she'd spent about twenty minutes working on this alone. Of course, she'd need a lot more time to complete the rest of the spell.  
  
This spell was highly technical, and she was rather proud of it. She hadn't written up any mystic incantations or verses, which, on the whole, she found pointless from the get-go. No, there was merely one word of activation. Before that, it required toned skill, a lot of knowledge, and more power than would generally be used in a small war.  
  
No wonder the ring liked it so much, she thought darkly, shrugging up her robes. They kept slipping off her shoulder, the thing was so bloody _heavy_.  
  
Eventually she deemed that the fire had thoroughly consumed the fresh leaves and green bark she had put in it. Although she couldn't see the thick black smoke, she could certainly smell it. She had all her ingredients directly at hand; she didn't want to go off somewhere and come back to find that she had lost her place. She might walk straight into the fire by accident. She shook her head... this really was _so_ dangerous...  
  
But she had to do it; setting her shoulders straight, she took a deep breath (and in the act nearly choked).  
  
Wincing and waving smoke away from her, she croaked,   
  
I is here, Miss, came the reply from across the fire.  
  
Okay, you feel the sort of spiky plant? Yeah -- throw that in next. Count of three, and we throw at once, okay?  
  
Yes, Miss. I has it.  
  
One -- two -- three!  
  
Hermione tossed a handful of dragonsbane into the fire. It hissed and flared up; she held her breath... there. Slowly, the fire was becoming visible, as the plant shriveled up, releasing its magical qualities. There fire was now a magical one, and quite a violent shade of purple, at that.  
  
Hermione blinked and squinted, making out the outline of the house-elf across the flames. He looked up with bulging eyes at her; the reflected purple light made them seem exceptionally bright.  
  
She gave him a strained smile. she said, putting down her bundle of ingredients. That's good, Dobby. Now, I've got to make this circle sealed from the muffler, like the castle. You'll have to keep the fire going. Just, um... if it looks like its getting any fainter, add a leaf of the spiky one, that's dragonsbane... and in the meanwhile, shred up some of that belladonna. No, here's some gloves, don't do it with your bare hands, that stuff's poison. When it's in little bits about -- oh -- this big, -- she held up two fingers to demonstrate -- add some of the greenish powder, that's dried feverfew, and mix it all up. Okay?  
  
Dobby gave a little nod, as if uncertain whether he had committed all that to memory, but was still willing to try and do as the girl said.  
  
Hermione walked over to Eloise's inert form and felt her neck. The pulse wasn't as confused as it had been thirty minutes ago... that was good... she hesitated, tucked the girl's hair behind her ear, and stood up. She felt awful just leaving Eloise like this, but at least it was only for a little bit. She'd gone ahead and snuck into Eloise's dorm, packing the necessities and a few personal items Hermione knew Eloise would want with her in the girl's old duffel bag, before coming down here to finish up her spell.  
  
She was full of apprehension. What if this didn't work? What if it killed them? Certainly even Dobby wouldn't survive it if this thing went to hell. This was the most delicate, fragile spell she'd ever put together, and she had invented several over the years, though Harry and Ron hadn't known it. Her waterproofing spell, for instance, that she once used on Harry's glasses during a Quidditch match: that had been her first attempt at improvisational magic, and it had worked like a charm (no pun intended). She only hoped this one would be so successful....  
  
Hermione walked around the edge of the circle she'd drawn up in the grass. It was about fifteen feet in diameter, about large enough to hold two humans, one house-elf, and three sets of gear. At the moment it would still be possible to erase the line and make it bigger, but sealing it from the solid darkness of the muffler would cement its position, so to speak.  
  
There were so many things that could go wrong...  
  
She shook her head, and took a bundle of what looked like sticks from her pocket. They were cracked, chipped, worn down and often broken, with tape holding them together. Hermione had been collecting them for quite a while now, all these old wands. Of course, you didn't _have_ to use wands as the barrier, she just thought it would be a nice touch. She'd disabled all of them, anyway, so they couldn't accidentally spark up and ruin the entire thing. You could use rowan twigs, or a line of powdered feverfew, or just about anything with powers of protection. She'd had to use feverfew around the castle, because that was the easiest to get hold of, and she had about a sackful of it still left over.  
  
She walked around the circle, shoving the sticks in the ground about a foot apart, and muttering the whole way. Slowly, the blackness started to disperse, and when the last wand was in place, she could look up and see the pale half-moon glinting down on them. (Anyone standing on the roof of Hogwarts would see the same, but they all looked out windows.)  
  
She let out a repressed sigh of relief, and went over to Dobby. She felt rather weak in the knees; she used strength of will on this spell more so than relying on the strength of magic, and it was far more exhausting.  
  
she croaked to Dobby. Let me see. Okay, that looks fine. Scatter it in a circle around the flames. When Dobby stood up to do so, she sat down hard in his place.  
  
Something is wrong, Miss? he asked, looking at her worriedly.  
  
No, I'm fine, she breathed. Just catching my breath.  
  
She could already feel something, something, opening up in the back of her mind... it felt rather like a little tunnel, but she couldn't be sure... it was all dark, the swirling greyness of the mind's eye. She tried to look down it, see what was on the other end...  
  
Dobby let the first handful of belladonna and feverfew fall.  
  
Hermione twitched unconsciously. The tunnel-thing had leaped a bit with the addition, and she wondered...  
  
She scrambled to her feet and peered into the thick black smoke. Of course...  
  
Hurrying over to her bag, she picked up a small bottle that held nothing but a sickly green-colored fog, and began to struggle with the cork. Hang on, Dobby, she panted. Keep a pinch of that stuff ready...  
  
Unfortunately, the cork was being rather stubborn, and before she had a chance to do anything useful with it, she was frozen by the sudden sound of a twig breaking.  
  
For a moment, there was silence. Dobby looked around, confused.  
  
Who's there? Hermione called at length.  
  
came an incredulous voice.  
  
Sirius? What are you doing here, I thought you left after Christmas? Hermione said stupidly, forgetting her bottle. Why on _earth_ was Sirius here?  
  
Not precisely. What the hell are you doing? Hermione could just make out the outline of a man in the darkness beyond her little circle of purple light.  
  
You can -- you can come in, she said hesitantly. Don't step on the wands.  
  
Sirius stepped into the ring of firelight, looking at the wands in the ground with bewilderment. He blinked and shook his head as he took in his surroundings: Hermione and a house-elf doing who-knew-what with what looked like a veritable truckload of magical odds and ends, some of which were very rare; and Eloise lying unconscious on the ground by four bags packed as if they were about to walk to France.  
  
What _are_ you doing? he repeated, utterly confused.  
  
Sirius, um... now isn't a good time, and why are you here? Hermione was wrestling with the bottle again.  
  
It doesn't matter why I'm at the castle, but look, whatever you're doing, you should break it up now, he said sternly. You can't have Dumbledore's permission, if you're working in the dead of night. Am I right?  
  
Well, no, of course I don't have permission, she snapped irritably. I'm trying my bridge spell, now if you don't mind --  
  
You're not old enough to take that tone with me --  
  
Oh, great, this from the person who needed twelve years in prison to cure his chronic immatureness --  
  
Do you know what you're doing? If you mess this up everyone here will be _dead_!  
  
I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING AND IF YOU DON'T GET OUT OF MY WAY --  
  
**  
**  
Hermione and Sirius froze, red-faced and breathing hard with anger. An immense tenseness, a boiling hatred with no particular meaning or substance, had come over both of them, and with no real reason why, they were taking it out on each other.  
  
What do you want? Hermione yelled at the person who had interrupted them.  
  
Severus Snape stepped delicately into the light, followed by a slinking, miserable-looking Draco Malfoy. Snape's eyes glinted dangerously.  
  
Miss Granger, I advise that you step out of this circle immediately and go back to the castle. One hundred points from Gryffindor for putting everyone present in immense danger, without any acknowledgement of, or from, your superiors, and... his eyes swept over her sack of ingredients, raiding my office _once again_, which, I may add, you have done at _least_ four times prior to this. I will have words with the Headmaster. It would be a pity to be expelled, right when it seemed you were so on top of things. He gave her the icy look he usually reserved for Harry.  
  
Shut up, Snape, Hermione snapped.  
  
A pause.  
  
Disrespect to a teacher, Snape growled. Another twenty points.  
  
Where I'm going that won't matter, she muttered, yanking at the cork without much success.  
  
Granger, I order you --  
  
Shut your trap, Snape, Sirius snarled, stepping up to the teacher. You and your little sulking pet -- he gave Malfoy a withering glance -- can shove it up --  
  
Easy to switch sides, isn't it, Black? Snape said softly. History does repeat itself.  
  
-- and leave _that_ out of it --  
  
BE QUIET!  
  
Hermione had stepped between them, at this point too far gone to care anything about who it was she was shouting at; and she delivered a sharp slap to both their faces.  
  
Shut UP! Professor, get out of here, and Sirius -- you -- you too. Just go. She glared at them both in such a way as to suggest that she could do far more than slap, if necessary.  
  
You too, Malfoy, she snapped, barely giving him a passing glance, and headed back to the fire. She snatched up a knife and viciously loosened the cork, ignoring the malicious stares she was receiving from Sirius and Snape.  
  
How dare you... began Snape, taking a step towards her.  
  
Dobby, give me that, she snapped, paying the professor no heed. Dobby handed her the last pinch of the belladonna/feverfew mixture fearfully, and scurried back, looking up and around at the upset humans with bulging eyes.  
  
Hermione unwedged the cork just a tiny bit and, letting out as little of the greenish gas as possible, sprinkled the powdery mixture inside. She closed the lid, gave the bottle a couple of really good shakes, then held it out, with a grim, determined look, to the two adults.  
  
Belladonna, feverfew, evaporated Chimaera saliva, she said in a low voice. Snape at least knows what that means.  
  
If it were at all possible, the Potions professor had gone paler than usual.  
  
You're really attempting this nonsense Dumbledore was on about tonight, aren't you? he hissed.  
  
Hermione said nothing, but turned back to the fire and made as if to uncork the bottle. Snape lunged forward and grabbed her wrist, twisting it slightly. Malfoy began to back away, but Sirius snatched his shoulder and brought him back into the circle with a hissed, _You're not going anywhere.  
_  
I forbid you --  
  
Forbid this, she said, with some slight satisfaction, and sent a small surge of power up his arm. He shrieked and let go, as if he'd been burnt.  
  
said Sirius, almost pleadingly, as if a sudden change had come over him. Don't do this.  
  
You have about five minutes to get out of the circle, she said, checking her watch. It was now four o'clock...  
  
You do see the ring's working on you, don't you? he asked, desperate.  
  
She snapped her head up and looked at him. Yes, he was being honest. A small smile broke over her face, and slowly grew bigger, until she had to burst out laughing before her ribs broke from holding it in.  
  
Don't -- don't -- don't look at me like that,' she cackled. I'm not crazy! Nhng... She bit her lip to stop herself, tears streaming down her face. Oh, yeah, ring mojo. I'm already over that part. Good guess, though. You'd better get out of here, spell's about done --  
  
said Sirius, drawing himself up. Hermione glanced sharply at him. We have time. He gave her a grin... a familiarly... twisted grin...  
  
Oh sh -- Hermione uttered a word she would never have said under any other circumstances. Dobby, blast him!  
  
he asked, terrified, huddled as far away from Sirius as possible.  
  
The ring's trying to take him, blast him like you did me -- She grabbed at her pocket, trying to keep the ring from escaping --  
  
Sirius, snap out of it! she shouted. _This is not a good time!  
_  
Everyone hates us, but we'll have it, and there will be no more betrayal! he shrieked, about to attack her, when --  
  
Snape and Malfoy tying to escape --  
  
Someone burst into the circle --  
  
  
  
Again the magic broke, and for a moment, utter confusion....  
  
Hermione scrambled for her bottle, dropped when Dobby had sent a cascade of protective magic towards Sirius from behind her. Sirius himself was sprawled on the ground, half-conscious. Snape and Draco had been bowled over by a seventh figure, who was now kneeling by Sirius and raging at an oblivious Hermione, who was currently uttering every single syllable of profanity she had ever learned.  
  
The grey swirling in the back of her mind was no longer a little tunnel... more of a huge chasm... roaring, hungry for something to dare its depths... bugger the extra people, there was no time to get rid of them; in only a few moments, if the word of activation wasn't said, the whole world would fall into that bottomless opening...  
  
She yanked the cork out of the bottle and poured the vaporous contents over the fire, scorching her hand a bit in the process. The flames turned black and spiraled up into the distant sky, the inverse of the chasm in her mind; a well that was quickly drawing near to the line between imagination and reality, and crossing it with no trouble at all. Now, the most important items of the whole spell...  
  
She stood up, drew a small, lumpy package out of her pocket, and threw it in the fire, paper and all; at the same time she gave herself a voice boost and uttered one word:  
  
_  
_  
----------  
  
They never felt anything.  
  
It might have been because they stood at ground zero of the ripple that followed; an eye-of-the-storm effect: it was calm, undisturbed. It might have been because the bodies their pure magical consciousnesses had just left behind were clinically dead, and _couldn't_ feel anything. It might also have been that they were paying far less attention to the uproarious activities of little things like nerves and glands than to the sight before them, as they were drawn into the void of the spell; the void of space; and the void of time; and finally...  
  
----------  
  
Certainly such a magnificent shade of green could not be found anywhere in the world Hermione knew.  
  
She found herself lying on the floor of a forest, in bright sunshine that made her eyes water after so much darkness. She felt empty, to say the least. Something was horribly wrong, despite the unrivaled beauty that surrounded her...  
  
She shut her eyes, ignoring the bit of tree root that poked into her back, and settled for drawing in the fresh, green-tinted air in great draughts. This had to be Lorien... she'd had no time to set a location, but if this wasn't Lothlorien she'd eat her hat... a smile flickered on her face, but could not find the stamina to stay there long.  
  
She levered herself onto her elbows and looked around.  
  
She was completely alone.  
  
There was no sign of another human being around as far as she could see in any direction. Of course, there was no telling how long she'd been asleep, and they might have wandered off if they'd woken up first; but, still, something pressed on her mind...  
  
She felt in her pocket worriedly, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach...  
  
The ring was gone.  
  
--------  
**distort** _v.t._ 1. to twist awry or out of shape; make crooked or deformed [1580-90; L _distortus_ (ptp. of _distorquere_ to distort), equiv. to _dis-_ + _tor(qu)-_ (s. of _torquere_ to twist) + _-tus_ ptp. suffix]  
  
Etymology Key:  
ptp. = past participle  
equiv. = equivalent  
s. = stem  
  
–Webster's Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary, © 1996 Random House Value Publishing, Inc., first published 2001 by Thunder Bay Press  
--------


	9. I Am A Traveler of Both Time and Space

A/N: I've been so buried in Buffy (Wahhh! Buffy died! Sorry, finally saw the end of season five) and my alter egos (KYRIEL! ARGH!) and just about everything that's NOT LotR or HP that I've been very out-of-touch with this fic. I can't say that I'll be updating very consistently for any extended period of time. Chapters will be written sporadically, when I have the time or inclination to get back on the horse. (I fell off. As is obvious. *wince*) If you must flame someone, please flame my alter egos. Especially Kyriel.  
  
If at any point you have the overwhelming urge to throttle me for leaving you hanging, may I just remind you that I'm currently writing one full-fledged, novel-sized fic (this story, LOF); one smaller (but still many-chaptered) story, a Remus romance; AND Kyriel's Blood Magic Saga. The latter consists of... oh, let's see... 12 NOVELS. (Do you finally understand why I want to strangle Kyriel?) This does not include the little stories I write on the side -- Buffy vignettes, Farscape epilogues, snippets of the beginnings of other crossovers, and so on, and so on... *rolls eyes* The life of a writer. Shoot me. Please.  
  
Oh, and Emily -- PICK UP THAT FREAKIN' BOOK, GIRL! I'm telling you that LotR is the best book in the WORLD, so get back on it! :) Love ya. And crackers _don't_ matter.  
  
This chapter is the first day in Middle-earth, all encompassed in a single extended segment -- the longest chapter yet, to compensate for lost time, I suppose. Enjoy.  
  
--------  
Chapter Nine: I Am a Traveler of Both Time and Space  
--------  
  
_Oh let the sun beat down upon my face,  
Stars to fill my dreams  
I am a traveler of both time and space;  
To be where I have been..._  
-From Kashmir' by Led Zeppelin  
––––––––––  
  
Oh, they probably just went off to look for something to eat, Hermione Granger thought muzzily, lying on her back on the ground in an unknown but extremely pleasant forest. She was barely awake, and her brain was not quite functioning properly yet.  
  
They'll come back soon, she murmured to herself, and tried to roll over, landing on a small patch of wild mushrooms in the process.  
  
What I'd like to know, said a loud, angry voice by her ear, is if this is the afterlife, how come you get a body and I don't.  
  
Hermione sat bolt upright, suddenly wide awake.  
  
Who's that? she yelled, looking from side to side frantically.  
  
You might know me from killing me, you bi--  
  
I don't think we're dead, Eloise, said a second, groggy voice.  
  
I know she killed me, she fired this blast at my back with the ring on, there's no--  
  
I don't know what's happening, but I swear you're all getting expelled the second I can find Dumbledore --  
  
Malfoy, keep quiet, this is a matter to be kept between Granger and myself --  
  
Slowly, slowly, Hermione was coming to grips with the situation. Of course, the spell... how could she be so stupid?  
  
--------  
  
Only witches and wizards could use Hermione's bridge-spell, and why this is depends on several deeply technical aspects of the magic's construction. There were three sorts of things that could be affected in highly different ways by a spell: inanimate things, including rocks, machinery, and for that matter, clothes and traveling gear; organic, living things -- all varieties of plants, animals, fungi, bacteria, and everything of that sort; and magical things, like other spells, or, as Hermione had deduced, a magically influenced human, other animal, or plant. Unicorns, chimaeras, Devil's Snare and Bubotubers, witches, wizards, werewolves and all, were all magical things that were not affected by spells in the same way as other things.  
  
Some spells, of course, were so all-encompassing that the differences between their effects on these various entities was barely noticeable: like Memory Charms or Stunning spells. But Hermione's bridge was a new brand of magic entirely, and very exclusive of the things it brought with it.  
  
Organic material could not survive the journey through that chasm that Hermione called a bridge. The _void_ Hermione had mentioned so often to Ron and Harry was quite literal. There was no air, no oxygen; in fact there was nothing at all, not even dark matter or whatever it was Muggles called it. Nothing living could traverse that and come out the other end quite as whole as it had been before it went in.  
  
As for inanimate objects... certain amounts of mass could be specified, but it required a bit more multitasking of the brain than Hermione was quite capable of yet. Most of the spell was created in one's own head, before it crossed the barrier into a twisted reality and drew you inside for a very, very long journey. During the composition of the spell for this, the first, time, Hermione had been a bit hesitant and withdrawn; afraid, as it were, of the very concept of what it was she was doing. But she had concreted the ideas of her four bags into the foundation of the spell, so at least those would be there; and indeed, they were lying right next to her, in a patch of moss. Her clothes, all the contents of her pockets and so forth, were still on her; she had had at least the presence of mind to insert those into the spell. Dobby would still be wearing his sweater and soccer shorts, if she could see him, and Eloise her robes. It was the other people she'd dragged along that she was worried about. In those last few moments she had tried to recall the details of what they had been wearing and carrying, and slip those in before everything went to hell in a handbasket, but as far as she knew, when Snape or Malfoy conjured themselves into sight, they had a high likelihood of being stark naked. The mere thought made her want to gag.  
  
Magic, now... magic was another thing entirely. Her spell was built around the idea of using her own fundamental, living magic, the magic of her soul, to piece together a bridge in front of herself; like putting a block down in front of her, stepping onto it, putting down another, and moving to it, then picking up the first block and moving it in front, and so on, only much more flowing and less time-consuming. Since she could not bring her organic body with her, she had designed a circle of protection to drive out darkness and age, so that when her magical essence had left it to die, it would be perfectly preserved. Since Dumbledore and the rest of the staff knew what her spell entailed, she was certain that they would have the sense not to move hers or anyone else's body out of her circle of wands.  
  
But in the meantime, her consciousness and soul, all her magic, was moving along in a wave of itself. But what to do on the other end? Upon emerging into a new world, she would have no solid body; she would only be a flickering shadow of power, with a mind. She could create a voice; she could do spells; she could form her invisible self into a human shape if she wanted to -- but that was the dilemma, you were still invisible, still insubstantial. There were two options to solve the problem. First, take over a living body, strangle its soul, binding yourself in its place. This was inconceivable to Hermione, and not in a thousand eternities would she attempt it.  
  
Second option...?  
  
Form the magic of yourself into a solid body. You would have complete control over the form you took until you concreted it. Hermione had chosen her own, normal self, with no major improvements except perhaps to make her hair a bit less frizzy and straighten her teeth, which, though shortened, were still a tad crooked. The enormous downside of the apparently idealistic option, however, was that once you molded your essence into your shell, there was nothing for that shell to house. In other words, her soul was in her skin and organs, nerves and veins, even her fingernails and hair; but there was no magic, no self, in her metaphorical, metaphysical heart. That heart was not even there any longer.  
  
She was, by very twisted terms, something of a cross between a Muggle and a saint. Her skin glowed very faintly with the enchanted spirit from which it was formed, but she could do no magic.  
  
Upon lifting the last metaphorical block from behind herself on the way down the bridge, Hermione had stacked all the pieces' together and used them to create this body, concreting it almost immediately. She'd overestimated herself somewhat, however, and the expenditure of so much mind- and willpower had left her unconscious. During the several hours she'd been comfortably asleep in the cushy overlapping mixture of moss and pine needles, six unformed spirits had been left to their own devising.  
  
--------  
  
Even being nothing more than bits of free-floating magic with disembodied voices had not discouraged the souls of Hermione's six unwanted companions from remaining in the same states as their physical bodies had been. It's difficult to adjust to the fact that you don't have to obey the laws of medical science anymore, and the spirits of both Eloise and Sirius had not moved or spoken for a long time, since they believed they ought to be unconscious. Dobby and Lupin, who had been magical phenomenons even in their solid bodies, within the bounds of their own universe, were even more of a couple of wonders now they had nothing binding them down. Dobby, if he were visible at that time, would have been so as a huge cloud of greenish, sparkling, slightly greasy-feeling fog. He'd never quite caught onto the idea of _using_ his powers now he had free reign of them, though, and was quite harmless. For lack of a better analogy, he looked somewhat like a haze of pistachio-flavored swamp gas.  
  
Lupin, though much the same as the souls of the other humans, was having a bitter inner struggle. Werewolves, in his and Hermione's world, had never been studied particularly closely, just accepted as dangers to society that should be controlled. No one had ever quite been able to place the reason _why_ the full moon was the only trigger for the lupine altered-nature; but now Remus was discovering that the human form must have had something to do with it, because where normally the wolf would be lurking somewhere in the depths of his mind, waiting for its chance to spring, it was now floating loosely about with the mind of the man who had previously kept it in check. Hermione might not have been so comfortable in her bed of pine and moss had she been able to see the things going on above and around her.  
  
Eventually, Eloise and Sirius deemed that their bodies ought to wake up around now.' The discovery that these bodies no longer existed came as rather a shock, and Eloise was convinced that they were all dead; she had been trying to tell this to everyone else who would listen the moment she figured out how to get her voice to work.  
  
----------  
  
For the sake of technicality, we will say that Hermione awoke six hours and twenty-three minutes after falling out of her bridge into the clearing in what she _assumed_ was the Golden Wood of Lothlorien.  
  
For the first of these hours, none of the four conscious spirits above her could quite manage to get their voices' to work.  
  
During the second of these hours, Snape, Draco, and Dobby figured out how to speak, but Lupin was a bit too occupied with himself attempt to.  
  
Late in the third hour, both loud threats from Snape and the tantalizing scent of green contrived to convince Sirius that he could not possibly be unconscious, and that it was all in his head. He then opened his or rather, let himself choose to see his surroundings, and was very fast to find a voice with which to shout demands for information.  
  
Four hours and forty-six minutes after the bridge had closed, Eloise The result of this can be left to the imagination; it is already known that she thought she was dead, and was very vocal about it.  
  
Five hours and fourteen minutes after landing, Remus Lupin figured out how to scream.  
  
Exactly an hour and nine minutes later, we began this chapter...  
  
---------  
  
I'm telling you, we _must_ be dead!  
  
This look much like hell to you, Midgen? sneered Draco's voice.  
  
I should very well think I've done enough good in my life not to go to hell, Eloise said huffily. Of course it's heaven. Now, _you_ being here, I don't understand...  
  
Eloise, _we are not dead._ Sirius sounded weary and more than a little ticked.  
  
How do _you_ know? That elf hit you hard enough to kill a mountain troll, I bet --  
  
_She_ wasn't crazy when I saw her, _I_ was, and if you'd just listen to someone for half a reasonable second --  
  
No! No, I won't! Look, I'm dead, I'm not taking any more guff from you people, and I haven't any idea why you're here anyway if it's heaven, and --  
  
_She's not wearing it!_ Sirius roared.  
  
Wearing what?  
  
The ring, you nitwit, the stupid bloody ring! Look at her, that is _not_ a crazy person, I know from crazy and where she may have been a bit out of it when she knocked you out, she _didn't_ kill you, and we are currently in another universe, NOT IN BLOODY HEAVEN!  
  
Hermione sat on the ground during all this, floundering about in the soggy remnants of her mind, trying to piece together the clues that led to the facts that she knew must be there. Finally, it all clicked, and she surged to her feet, patting all her pockets in a frenzy of dread and apprehension.  
  
No, she hadn't been mistaken when she'd found the ring gone a minute or two before. Maybe it was something wrong with the spell; the ring could have-- have-- disrupted it, or something-- fallen into the void--  
  
She spun about unconsciously and looked all around, as if expecting something huge and dreadful to leap out at her for losing the most important thing in this whole affair...  
  
...and there it was. It had merely slipped out of her pocket when she'd rolled over at some point during her long sleep.  
  
With a great sigh of exasperation she snatched it up and stuffed it in her breast pocket. She tried not to let it show, but her stomach was currently untwisting about a thousand little kinks that had suddenly appeared upon the unpleasant discovery.  
  
She looked above her, where the disembodied voices of her companions were still arguing heatedly. She had half a mind to simply let them stay the way they were, where she wouldn't have to deal with them while she was traveling.  
  
And yet, sadly, no... it seemed slightly inhumane. Hermione sighed, knowing what had to be done. She winced as Eloise shouted insults at her from the branches above. Eventually they'd discover that they could work magic spells in their current forms, and who knew what would happen then, especially with people like Snape and Malfoy on the loose.  
  
she called loudly, hoping Eloise would hush so they could hear her.   
  
You bloody little --  
  
Yes, Hermione! What's going on?  
  
She answered Sirius's question as best she could without going into a long, involved lecture on the technicalities of her spell.  
  
You, um -- you might have noticed that your bodies are gone, she began, feeling rather small and vulnerable without her normal protection, magic. We're in Middle-earth, I'm not sure where, but we're here. The spell worked.  
  
What the hell are you talking about, Granger? snarled Malfoy's voice.  
  
We're in a different universe, you git, now shut up, Sirius snapped.  
  
I warn you, Black... Snape sounded murderous.  
  
Could we -- could we just stop fighting for a second, please? You're not dead, any of you -- your bodies are, kind of, but they're back in our world...  
  
I _am_ dead, I _told_ you --!  
  
_No!_ Eloise, listen. You don't have a body here because you can't bring organic material through a void! The bridge goes through a void, so you can't come in a solid form; but, uh... your... your consciousnesses are here. Your magic. She felt a brief pang of loss. You can form your fundamental magic into a body and cement it if you want to. You won't be able to do any spells, but when you're like you are now, about the _only_ thing you can do is spells. I need a body to destroy the ring, so I gave up my magic. You can choose either way, I suppose.  
  
She received a blank silence as this bit of uncomfortable revelation was made.  
  
Of course it's just a lie, Malfoy said momentarily. You can't travel across universes. Professor Snape knows. He's got more sense than _you_. Professor?  
  
Snape gave no response.  
  
Malfoy's voice sounded more frightened now.  
  
Stop your whining and make a choice, Snape snapped. I loathe the thought, but the Muggle girl is right. I've seen the schematics and the spell _is_ possible. He made Muggle' sound like a mortal insult, and Hermione winced, feeling the loss of her powers strongly.  
  
P-Professor Lupin? Hermione asked momentarily.  
  
The sound she got in reply was somewhere between a whimper and an animal snarl. She started, the full reality of his condition striking her suddenly. She'd had a vague idea that he might be having trouble, but as he'd said nothing aloud...  
  
God, Remus! cried Sirius, as if it had occurred to him at the same moment -- or at least as if he had suddenly remembered. What's happening to him? he demanded of Hermione.  
  
She had paled considerably and now took a stumbling step or two back into the moss. I-I don't know for sure, but no one knows... exactly how a... a werewolf... would react in an out-of-body experience...  
  
He's not staying like this, Sirius said angrily; panicking, by the tone in his voice. He'll hurt himself. I don't care if he doesn't have a body to hurt! If he's melding --  
  
I don't know how to get him down! Hermione cried, feeling utterly helpless. I haven't got my magic! You're -- You have to think yourself into a body -- that's the entire point! You have to have complete control of yourself for it to work, and I never meant for Professor Lupin to come, I knew something bad would happen --! She was almost in tears now, and backing away quickly, as if Sirius were solid and visible, and currently advancing on her.  
  
But I can still do magic. Isn't there anything? I could -- I don't know -- help us here! Snape, for once get your sorry ass out of the dungeons and help!  
  
Actually I was quite enjoying the show, Black, said Snape's oily, sarcastic voice. What do I care about Lupin? He can't hurt me, he's insubstantial.  
  
Hermione's brain raced. Wait... Revalium!  
  
There was an audible pause as Sirius's spirit seemed to freeze and metaphorically turn towards her.   
  
Revalium Incantatem, Hermione said weakly. It -- it makes the essence of magic tangible... and all of you _are_ the magical essences of yourselves...  
  
There was a wail from where Lupin must have been. It was an odd call; Hermione could almost make a human voice out of it, if she tried hard enough; it was a sad sound, the sound of someone near the point of giving up after a lifetime of defiance. The sound of someone who's been holding on to a thread for years, and now that thread was fraying.  
  
I can't think of anything else, Hermione whispered, sinking down into the moss.  
  
There was a beat of silence. Hermione could almost see the small, watchful contortion that might be called a grin on Snape's face; she could almost see Malfoy and Eloise looking around at the others, scared and trying to stay out of the matter. Dobby would currently be crouching in a corner or banging his head on the wall, if he could.  
  
I'll try it, said Sirius eventually. But if it doesn't work, I'm not sure there's anything left to do. And if it does -- there's no telling what might show up. Find a weapon, he might be dangerous.  
  
She quickly scrambled for the nearest fallen branch, wishing in vain for her wand and her knowledge. There were some knives in her pack, but they were kitchen knives, and she didn't want to get in that close a range with anything like a half-transformed Professor Lupin.  
  
As she picked up a large, sturdy limb that she could scarcely lift, her hand brushed something slippery... the Invisibility Cloak! She dropped the heavy branch instantly and picked up the (obviously) invisible object, unwrapping it from around Harry's precious racing broom. Quickly she hopped onto the broom and kicked off, rising ten, twenty feet into the air; slipping past a few small branches and twigs that stung as they whipped her face.  
  
she gasped, edging out into a more open spot. I'm safe. I can go higher if I need to.  
  
All right, brace yourself. Sirius' voice was grim. It may not work the first time, I haven't got the hang of this no-body thing yet. God, I wish I could hold a wand! Right...  
  
_Revalium Incantatem!_  
  
Hermione held her breath, her stomach gyrating about in directions she didn't even know were possible. She thought her liver and various other internal organs might have been in on it as well.  
  
Something was happening...  
  
A twisted shape began to writhe vaguely; its location was almost impossible to place; it was almost like the ripple of heat rising off the courtyard flagstones on a hot day, only that was not quite right, because it wasn't a symmetrical heat wave pattern; it was something... else. It had a shape, but that shape was indefinable.  
  
A sudden rush of solidity slammed it to the ground; the spell was taking a firmer grip; it was trying to form the distortion into something real, but the distortion was fighting back. Hermione watched with revulsion as the thing squirmed unsuccessfully; here a patch of coarse gray fur; here a flash of pink skin flushed pale with effort and covered with cold sweat; here a bright, sharp claw, which gave a slash, and suddenly, here was a brief spray of red that stained the perfect golden leaves; here was an eye, almost yellow, almost slitted, but also -- almost human.  
  
It looked directly up at Hermione, desperate, before vanishing into the chaos of melded wolf and man, each fighting for superiority. It appeared to be a stalemate, but one which would soon end in death -- for both of Remus's two natures. A glitter of teeth and he was biting himself; sunlight gleamed on a heavy, deadly gray paw; blood seeped into the ground and the moss drank it thirstily. The screaming snarl of the confused creature ripped through Hermione's head, making it impossible to think clearly. The young witch had never been in such a frenzied yet frozen state of panic.  
  
_  
_  
Hermione heard herself screaming but she was sure she hadn't told her mouth to move. She shrieked the name of the only person she knew would help, even though she didn't know what he could do about this monstrosity. Hermione's eyes were blurred with stinging saltwater tears, but she couldn't wipe them away because she was gripping the handle of the Firebolt with both hands, so hard she thought her fingers might break, or at least she would splinter the broom apart; and then she'd have nothing to save her from that thing below her; that miserable, murderous, waiting monster that used to be her teacher and her friend...  
  
She hadn't meant for him to come... _the spell hadn't been designed for werewolves...  
_  
She heard Snape's brief, unhappy laugh, and Malfoy's exclamation of horror. She heard Eloise scream, and imagined her running; her spirit would be fleeing into the trees, hiding from the sight below. Dobby was shouting incoherent things; Hermione could just see him dodging about trees, confused, scared: not understanding that he could probably save Professor Lupin's life if he would just use his magic for once.  
  
Sirius' voice rose out of the half-snarls and screams, the howls of pain and aggression. He seemed to be shouting a spell, but in her agitated state, Hermione couldn't place it; although she knew she had heard it before...  
  
_Versipellis! Versipellis! _Damn it!_ Versipellis, bloody hell, Remus, _VERSIPELLIS!  
  
Slowly, ever so slowly -- almost unnoticeably -- the gleaming sweaty surface of human skin was beginning to cover the patches wolf fur. Humanity was beginning to take over; the snarls became anguished gasps and yells of pain even as they were uttered. Ears receded from the top of Remus's still-gray head, down to their more normal side position; the coarse fur retreated from his forehead and shrank into its usual human length; eyes slowly faded from the primal wolfish yellow into Lupin's soft brown.  
  
Hermione was already descending to the ground, abandoning all caution in the face of helping her friend and favorite teacher. She crumpled onto the moss, dropping the broom ungracefully and scrambling to her feet. She ran to the packs lying on the ground and ripped open one of the two Sirius had been carrying, which she had had the presence of mind to include in her spell just before it had all gone out of control.  
  
As she had hoped, Sirius had had a change of robes with him. She pulled them out, hoping Sirius and Remus wore roughly the same size: a glance over her shoulder had told her that she had not included Professor Lupin's clothes in the bridge-spell quite quickly enough.  
  
Turning to the now fully-human, spasmodically shuddering professor, she laid Sirius' robes over him like a blanket and gently turned him onto his back.  
  
Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Remus opened his eyes a fraction and looked up into Hermione's face. He tried to speak, but only succeeded in bringing on another convulsion. Hermione tried to hold his head still while it took its time in passing.  
  
He's all right, isn't he? Sirius' voice was faint, and he sounded pale.  
  
Hermione felt his neck for a pulse. His eyes were closed again, and he had apparently fallen unconscious, but he was alive -- not steadily, but alive.  
  
she said, her voice wavering. He's -- he'll live, I think. What did you do?  
  
Turnskin Charm, Sirius said distantly. It -- it changes people. It's... sort of like Homorphous, but not so hard, and not permanent... He trailed off.  
  
Hermione lifted Lupin's head into her lap, holding it up so he wouldn't choke on his own blood. She didn't know much about medicine, but she had been tutored by Madam Pomfrey for a single semester with a group of other sixth years, because the nurse had needed a sight larger staff during the war. Most of what Hermione had done was change bandages, but, well -- at least that was something.  
  
Sirius, do you know any healing charms? she asked absently, holding one of the washcloths she had borrowed' from Madam Pomfrey's stores over Lupin's split lip, trying to staunch it.  
  
Won't work on werewolves. They just rebound. I know... he got hurt a lot when we were in school... James tried, but we just left it to Pomfrey mainly...  
  
Well, if magic won't help then either get down here or tell me what to do, she said grimly.  
  
  
  
She looked up at the sky, but with a sort of focused air, as if she could see Sirius and the others despite their invisibility. Is there a sort of unformed thing flickering around at the back of your head?  
  
_  
_  
Just look for it.  
  
There was a brief silence, and then Sirius said slowly, I... think I see what you mean.  
  
Don't look right at it. You have to look at sort of sideways, like when you look at something bright for too long and there's a residual image, but if you look right at it, you can't see it. Just keep looking at it that way, and change it into what you want it to be. Try your normal body, actually, that's safest. Safer to stick with about the same amount of mass as you're used to.  
  
As she waited for Sirius to do as she said, Hermione felt all along Professor Lupin's limbs for broken bones, but he seemed to be in one piece. Only his ankle was at an odd angle, and this she left alone for the time, afraid that she might make it worse by trying to help.  
  
Right... I think I have it, came Sirius voice eventually. I'm not visible yet, am I?  
  
She allowed a small grin. No. You have to concrete yourself. I think I included your clothes in the spell...  
  
Excuse me? He sounded startled.  
  
Well, clothes are inanimate mass, they come separate. What, you have at least that much common sense, don't you? Anyway, they ought to materialize along with you, but I'd recommend getting behind a bush or something before you try to become visible.  
  
This ties for the worst day of my life, he muttered. Hermione didn't ask what the worst day was; she imagined that about twelve years' worth of his life was tied for first.  
  
Hermione carefully pulled Professor Lupin into a sitting position with his back against the nearest tree, and left his side to take stock of everything she'd managed to bring with her. Dobby's sack of food was there, as were Eloise's and Dobby's packs of belongings. The Invisibility Cloak had fallen on top of Hermione's bag when she'd dropped it, and she only found them again when she tripped over them. All of Sirius' stuff appeared to be present, although she couldn't account for anything the others might have been carrying; but she was pretty sure she hadn't seen anything else.  
  
Sirius's voice startled her when it spoke again; it was very close and seemed to be on the ground again.  
  
It worked, he said, slightly muffled. She turned, and saw that some of the foliage behind her was rustling and jerking fitfully. A moment later there was a loud sneeze followed by a string of curses. Hermione almost smiled, but couldn't quite bring herself to it. A hand appeared and eventually Sirius struggled out of the bush.  
  
grunted Sirius, trying to untangle a prickly-looking leaf from his already hopelessly tangled hair. Got inside the bush instead of behind it.  
  
Hermione was completely taken aback by his appearance. He looked about twenty years younger, and though his black eyes had not lost their faintly haunted sense, they seemed far more bright and acutely interested. This was the Sirius in Harry's photo album; the Sirius who had graduated Hogwarts, who had been at James and Lily's wedding, and who had been named Harry's godfather.  
  
Hermione mouthed for a moment, realizing that suddenly there were only a few years' age difference between them. She took a step back uncomfortably.  
  
He gave her a small grin. Feels odd to be rid of twenty years of hate, he said in response to her astonished look.  
  
Hermione nodded, finally taking her eyes off him.  
  
Lily was always the obligatory nurse whenever one of us at school got hurt and didn't want to go to Pomfrey for fear of giving ourselves away, Sirius said absently, looking through Hermione's bag. I picked up some stuff... not a lot, but it'll help.  
  
It's -- it's probably more than I know, she stammered.  
  
I saw you had some feverfew, what else did you swipe from the slimeball? Sirius asked, reading the labels on a dozen or so jars and bottles.  
  
I heard that, Black, came Snape's icy voice. Hermione jumped slightly; the Potions professor was standing right by the edge of the clearing, as greasy-haired and hook-nosed as always. Apparently he hadn't changed a thing about his appearance.  
  
Hermione gave him a barely visible scowl. You could at least materialize a few inches above the ground, she muttered, so I'd hear the thump.  
  
Bully for you, Sirius replied more audibly, not looking up. I can probably make something out of this. Ground's kind of damp, there's probably some water nearby. Think you could find it? He addressed this question to Hermione, deliberately ignoring Snape.  
  
Hermione answered quickly, snapping out of the daze she kept slipping into: _I am in... another... **universe**...  
_  
As she walked off in the direction Sirius had indicated, carrying the collapsible bucket she'd borrowed' from Filch's broom closet, she listened to the fading conversation of the two men:  
  
Look, Snape, I _know_ you can make healing potions. You don't even need your own magic to make potions...  
  
I'd rather watch the pathetic werewolf heal on his own.  
  
Don't get me started, you bastard --  
  
What are you going to do, Black? An almost audible sneer. Not even a simple disarming spell at your disposal... what a pity...  
  
I haven't survived as long as I have without learning a few non-magical methods of pain...  
  
Hermione went out of earshot. She hoped that she wouldn't have three beaten and bloody people to deal with when she got back. Perhaps she could convince Dobby to use his magic -- to stay insubstantial for the rest of their journey, so he could help them out. In a solid form he'd probably be completely useless... the small, frail body of a house-elf without its only advantage; that of unmeasurable power... He would be slow, scared, nothing but dead weight that ate up their extra food -- unless he kept his magic.  
  
As Hermione pushed aside a protruding branch, receiving her first few scratches in this new body, she finally heard what she wanted to hear: running water. Hurrying in the direction of the faint gurgling rush, she barely missed tripping over tree roots and mounds of old leaves. Emerging beside the small river, she took immediate note of all the willow trees leaning over it's banks, drinking up the murky liquid. Hermione chose to ignore them for the moment, instead rushing over and dipping her hands into the cold water, splashing her face and drinking deep. Her six hours of unconsciousness were catching up to her, and she found that she was extremely hungry and thirsty. She took this opportunity when she was completely alone to attend to other business, as well.  
  
When she was done, she unfolded the bucket and filled it with water. Taking a final sip, she turned regretfully to leave.  
  
Now she could look at the willow trees with more focus, more clarity of mind. She frowned... willows... it was triggering something in the back of her mind, she just couldn't remember what.  
  
Shrugging, she made her way back to the clearing where the other were. When she came in earshot of the conversation, she instantly began walking as fast as she could without sloshing her bucket too much. Emerging near where Professor Lupin still lay unconscious, she set down the bucket and ran to help Eloise restrain Sirius.  
  
Draco and Eloise had apparently decided on taking tangible bodies, thought they had crafted themselves a little less expertly than Sirius, Snape, and Hermione. Draco, though obviously solid, was somewhat hazy, as if he had a light mist hanging around his body. Eloise was in sharper focus, but her hair was mouse-brown, and her right hand was... deformed. Withered, shriveled away like a raisin.  
  
Surprisingly, she was holding Sirius' left arm tightly with the shrunken hand, and it seemed to be working quite well at holding him back. In fact, his left forearm and hand were a very slight shade of purple, as if she were cutting off his circulation. She wasn't even holding onto him with her other hand.  
  
The shouts and insults coming out of Sirius were all but incomprehensible. Snape stood opposite Sirius, speaking in a loud, slow, condescending voice that was completely drowned out by Sirius' incoherent (but very rude) shouting. Snape's nose was bloody and Sirius had a split lip, but that appeared to be the extent of the damage. Draco was hovering (almost literally) around Professor Snape, trying in vain to find appropriate calming words that still wouldn't indicate that he was on Sirius' side. Eloise merely gritted her teeth and pulled on Sirius' arm as hard as she could. He didn't seem to notice.  
  
Hermione saw how helpless it was to try and break them up herself; instead she edged over to where Lupin lay still, and tried calling Dobby. She nearly had to yell at the top of her lungs, but the others didn't notice, and Dobby eventually heard her.  
  
Yes, miss? said his frightened, quavery squeak of a voice, out of nowhere. Hermione jumped a foot in the air and put a hand to her heart.  
  
she gasped. Right, you just startled me. You're going to have to break up the others. Think you can do that?  
  
Y-Yes, miss, Dobby thinks so.  
  
Ten seconds passed with no difference and Hermione was almost ready to give up, when suddenly there was a bang, like a firecracker going off nearby, and all four quarreling companions were flung apart with the force of a small bomb.  
  
Just for a moment, blessed silence fell. Hermione cut in the second before the protests would begin, speaking loudly and clearly.  
  
Everyone, stop it, she said, walking over to them. She reached out one hand each to Sirius and Snape, offering to help them up. Neither took her hand, but they took her point. We're _stuck here._ Do you understand that? You can't just go home when you want to. I'm very sorry about that, I never meant for it to happen -- but you didn't get out of the circle when I told you to, and you can't just pause magicks that big; so it's not _entirely_ my fault. I don't know where we are, and until I know that I can't even say what the next step of action is. So, _please,_ stop fighting -- not just this time, but all the time. I know this is an... interestingly matched group of people, but there's only so many black eyes I can stand before I start giving them out myself. Besides, we've only got so much we can do in the way of healing. Only Dobby can do spells, Snape can make potions, Sirius, Eloise and I know a little of the common sense of medical procedures. None of us are doctors, and right now that's what Professor Lupin really needs. We're going to have to work together, whether you like it or not.  
  
She took a deep breath, walked back to Lupin, and sat down by his side. Silence met her speech, and they must have remained still for nearly a quarter of an hour. Finally Eloise put out her wasted hand and pushed herself to her feet; without looking back at the others, she walked to Hermione and sat down on the other side of Professor Lupin.  
  
She's right, you know, said Eloise in a low voice, training her eyes on Lupin's disfigured face.  
  
Eventually Snape and Sirius got to their feet, both deliberately ignoring each other as they brushed themselves off and regained their composure.  
  
Hermione watched Draco surreptitiously throughout this. The pale boy's face showed no sign of accepting Hermione's terms -- in fact, it showed nothing. His expression was completely blank. Hermione frowned slightly.  
  
Getting up once again, she walked to him and held out her hand. He glared up at her; she reached down and grabbed his arm instead, hauling him to his feet. He tried to shove her off, but she dodged him and deliberately brushed the leaves and pine needles off the back of his robes. When she let go of him, he snarled at her and jerked his robes straight.  
  
Come off it, Malfoy, she snapped in a low voice. Stop being an ass. What do you know about healing?  
  
he growled. Absolutely nothing. Satisfied, Granger? Does my ignorance brighten up your day?  
  
she muttered, taking a step away from him. Your honesty does. Thank you.  
  
He opened his mouth, held it for a second, and then shut it quickly.  
  
If anyone needs an extra pair of hands, I see two perfectly good ones at the ends of your wrists. Understand?  
  
He hesitated, then nodded curtly. Hermione turned away and knelt by the inert werewolf, taking up her abandoned washcloth and dipping it into the bucket of water. Gently she began clearing the blood off of Lupin's injuries.  
  
The five of them worked in relative silence for most of the day. Hermione took a good look through Sirius' packs, looking for anything useful; but what worried her most was their supply of food. There were now six people to split it between, and Dobby had only packed three travelers' worth -- enough for perhaps five days, according to the original plan. With the added company, it might last two days at best, not counting tonight.  
  
She walked past Snape and Sirius, who were snapping quietly at each other over how much of some ingredient or other Sirius had added to the potion Snape had directed him to make. Ignoring them, Hermione dug around in her own bag until she came up with a compass, the trilogy of books themselves, and Dumbledore's map of Middle-earth that she had packed at the last minute.  
  
She turned until she saw that she was facing north, then sat down. From her memory of the walk, she judged that the small river she had found was to her right -- to the east. It seemed to run north to south, roughly -- at least it did in the stretch of it that she had found.  
  
_Weeping willows...  
_  
Yellow willow leaves falling on water. It was triggering such a vivid memory, a vision from... from the books? She had such clear, bright, vivid mental images of any story she read that sometimes they blurred into real life in her mind. But this was certainly a picture from the books. One of the various forests had looked like this. Sadly she ruled out Lothlorien -- though if one of the lesser woods was this beautiful, she could hardly imagine the enchanted Golden Wood.  
  
Fangorn? No, she would be seeing Ents, wouldn't she? Maybe it was...  
  
_The Old Forest.  
_  
That had to be it. She had all but forgotten about Tom Bombadil and Old Man Willow -- they had so little to do with the ultimate plot, and Hermione had felt opposed to Bombadil in particular. He was so pointless -- and his singing was annoying.  
  
But this was his forest -- the Old Forest, east of the Brandywine, west of the Misty Mountains.  
  
Hermione brightened, glad to have at least a general idea of where they were. But her brief pleasure was dampened by the nagging fact of their limited food; they couldn't possibly get out of the woods in time to reach a settlement, especially not if they were as aware or treacherous as the books had made them out to be. Plus, she was dismayed that they had landed so far from their eventual destination. They'd have to make almost the exact same journey the Fellowship had.  
  
But maybe they could do it with less secrecy. Of course, they'd have to hide the Ring, but they could at least go into villages and talk to people without the overhanging menace of the Shadow in the East. No Black Riders; no great Eye watching over them...  
  
There was a quiet, sickening crunch that brought Hermione back to reality with a queasy vengeance. She hardly dared to wonder what the sound had been, but she suspected it had something to do with that oddly bent ankle of Remus'.  
  
After a moment, she quelled her nausea and turned to look. Draco was holding Lupin's foot stiff and straight, while Snape wrapped a makeshift splint on tightly with a roll of gauze he'd found in Hermione's bag. His constant scowl had vanished momentarily, replaced by a look of concentration. He seemed to take pleasure in binding the splint tighter than seemed possible. Draco's hazy hands were trembling, and he looked slightly green. Apparently Snape had ordered him to realign the broken bones, and Draco wasn't very pleased with the assignment.  
  
Eloise was cleaning up and repacking the materials Sirius and Snape had used to make the potion that Sirius now held: a fairly large bottle of purplish-blue liquid. Avoiding his cold eyes, Sirius handed Snape the bottle and a fresh roll of gauze. Snape promptly set to applying the thick, blueish potion to all of Remus' cuts and bites, waving Draco away.  
  
Hermione walked over to Eloise, and they were momentarily joined by Sirius. Draco hung back, opting for an old tree stump as a seat -- at least he was far away from the others. He looked at his hands and shuddered, hiding them in the folds of his robe; but no one else noticed.  
  
I think I know where we are, Hermione murmured, looking at the ground. Sirius and Eloise looked up at her, hopefully. Hermione dragged her eyes up to theirs. I'm pretty sure this is the Old Forest. I got that water from a river over there -- she gestured vaguely to the east -- and it was lined with willows. Remember Old Man Willow?  
  
They both nodded. That's good, said Sirius. At least we didn't land in -- Moria, or something.  
  
Hermione frowned. Well, I'd kind of hoped to land somewhere closer to... to Mordor. Sirius fell silent.  
  
Eloise piped up, the Old Forest is a decent place to start, close or not. It's going to be a long walk either way. You do realize it took the Fellowship nearly a year to finish their journey? Starting from where we are now?  
  
They spent two months in Rivendell, and another in Lorien, reasoned Hermione. Besides, we won't have all the restrictions they had. There won't be anyone chasing us, and we can go on open roads for the whole way. I'm hoping to get this over with as fast as possible.  
  
They don't have any faster method of transportation here than horses, mused Sirius. We'll still be three, four months at best. I mean, none of us are made for long journeys. I can't even Apparate.  
  
Oh, that reminds me, said Hermione, changing the subject. This map. I know you can't do magic, but I was hoping you could tell Dobby how you made the Marauder's Map. If we had a similar thing here...  
  
Sirius took the piece of paper from her and squinted at it. The map of Hogwarts is more localized, he said doubtfully. This is... it covers too large an area to show every single person --  
  
No, no, it doesn't have to be everyone, said Hermione, grinning slightly. Just us -- er -- seven. So we can know exactly where we are. And if we get split up, whoever's got the map can find everyone else, no trouble.  
  
Sirius nodded. I can -- I mean, Dobby can do that. That is, if he understands me.  
  
He will, Hermione said, sounding more convinced than she felt. Honestly, for their only magic-worker, Dobby was a bit doubtful. He was powerful enough, but when she really thought about it, she didn't know if he was really capable of the complex challenges they'd set for him.  
  
It's a good idea, said Sirius supportively, before calling for Dobby. He and the disembodied voice of the house-elf began discussing the map in low voices.  
  
Hermione and Eloise sat in silence for a moment. So, er, said Hermione tentatively. What... what happened to your hand?  
  
Eloise grinned wryly. Well, I thought that if I was going to make a new body, I ought to... improve it. She laughed ruefully, tugging on her brown hair. The hair is just a whim. I was afraid of what would happen if I tried to change my entire body, so I decided on just changing my hand... it's incredibly strong. She picked up a small fallen branch and crushed it into toothpick-sized splinters in seconds. Hermione blinked. I suppose I succeeded... but I didn't know how a super-strong hand would look, so I was kind of vague when I pictured it. This is what I got. She lifted the wrinkled, bony thing that passed as her right hand. she added, it's not like I made my arm muscles any stronger. I can't lift Snape one-handed or anything. But if I hold onto something, there's no chance in hell of me letting go until I want to.  
  
Hermione nodded, smiling. It was a good idea, she said, echoing Sirius. Her smile faded. Look, Eloise... She swallowed and her gaze darted to the ground. I'm sorry.  
  
Eloise was confused. For what?  
  
Hermione looked up, just as befuddled. Why? I... I knocked you out, I brought you here -- I never even asked for your opinion. I just _assumed --_  
  
Oh, yeah, said Eloise, her face clearing. Well, I wanted to kill you there for a while, but... She glanced over her shoulder at the others, her eyes lingering on Lupin in particular. I just can't bring myself to feeling angry any more, she conceded with a sigh. I've hardly known you for two years, and this... all of this is just so unlike you. I was completely thrown for a while, but I think I finally realized that this was the necessary choice. She shrugged uncomfortably. I probably would have chosen to come with you anyway, if I'd had the chance. At least I'll get the free tour of Middle-earth. She looked up and grinned; an honestly excited expression, not forced at all. How many people get to see their favorite books in real life?  
  
Hermione smiled back. Not many, I'm sure. And... I'm pretty sure the bridge-spell will work going into any dimension, not just this one, or our own. There might even be a world somewhere where _we're_ fictional; who knows?  
  
Eloise snorted. That's a weird thought. I hope the writer made me look better.  
  
Hermione laughed. I'll bet Harry's the main character, if anyone. He's the hero type. Harry versus Voldemort.  
  
Eloise giggled. Well, if Ron gets paired with anyone besides me in _Harry's_ stories, I'm going to get seriously annoyed.  
  
I'm sure the writer from the other world knows that you and Ron are inseparable, said Hermione, grinning.  
  
Eloise sobered a bit. Four months without him, she murmured. I wonder if I can handle it. I already miss him.  
  
Hermione patted her back. We'll make it through this just fine, she said encouragingly. I'm sure Ron's thinking about you right now.  
  
Can you get us back?  
  
Hermione suddenly frowned.  
  
Eloise looked her straight on and repeated, Can you get us home? Do you have what's needed to get us back?  
  
Hermione said firmly, looking stolidly back into the other girl's eyes. I _can_ do the spell again. I planned ahead -- Dobby is essential to the process, and he has to be able to do magic, that's why I can't let him cement himself. I was the focus the last time -- the bridge itself formed in my mind and jumped into reality when it was fully formed. Dobby will have to be the focus this time, but I'm sure he can do it. The muffler is easy to weave, he can do that; and there won't have to be a circle of protection this time, because we don't have bodies to protect. The trip back should be much easier. And really, only two ingredients are irreplaceable -- the sand from a Time-Turner mixed with some enhanced Floo powder. Time and space, you know.  
  
Eloise nodded. Just checking. I love this place in my mind -- but I don't want to spent the rest of my life here.  
  
I understand. Hermione sighed. This is so incredible, but... I don't know. Somehow I'm not overwhelmed by the _place_... I'm only tired. That's all I can feel. I don't know if I can take this thing to the dark land. I don't know if I'm as strong as Frodo was. And I don't even have a Sam to help me.  
  
Sure you do, said Eloise, surprised. You've got me. And Sirius, for sure -- he'd never leave you behind. I haven't known him as long as you have, but I trust him -- and I know _you_ trust him. Malfoy and Professor Snape are at _least_ equivalent to... oh, I dunno. Gollum and Boromir.  
  
Hermione laughed softly. Well, maybe Legolas and Gimli, Eloise conceded. She thought for a moment, and giggled. Dear God, can you picture Snape as a dwarf? All short and ax-weilding, with bushy hair...  
  
Hermione snorted. Greasy bushy hair, she corrected.  
  
Both of them fell out laughing, attracting glares from Snape and Draco, and a strange look from Sirius.  
  
The pure, golden sunlight had been fading all the while they spoke. It shifted imperceptibly from the bright, clear light of the afternoon sun into the more filtered light of evening, until, finally, it became tinted with a dark blood red; a reddish shade of purple; a deep indigo; and in the end, the darkest of all blues.  
  
Hermione looked up to see a few tiny stars peeking through the swaying branches above her. The vision was beautiful; time slowed for an instant, and Hermione found herself wishing that she could be up there with the pinpricks of fire, which seemed to be singing, in a collective voice that was so musical and joyous that she felt her heart soaring. She didn't want to be down here, stuck among the dingy, uninviting trees, with such a heavy burden, with such guilt and responsibility weighing on her mind...  
  
Eloise was looking up as well. Suddenly she spoke, quiet but clear nonetheless:  
  
And there maybe tis cloudless night,  
And swaying beeches bear  
The Elven stars as jewels white  
Amid their branching hair...  
  
Hermione brought her eyes down to meet Eloise's. The darkness obscured their faces, but each could see the other's eyes glittering brightly with reflected starlight.  
  
That sounds familiar, said Hermione, trying to think of the books, trying to remember all the poetry... there had been so much of it...  
  
Sam's song, Eloise replied. In the third book. In Western lands beneath the sun...'  
  
Oh, I remember, said Hermione, recalling that particular poem quite clearly. 'Though here at journey's end I lie, in darkness buried deep...'  
  
Eloise turned her eyes back to the sky. I've loved that poem ever since I first read the books, she whispered. I memorized it when I was seven.  
  
I remember... Hermione frowned. I only remember one other. We still remember, we who dwell/ In this far land beneath the trees/ Thy starlight on the Western seas.'  
  
Eloise nodded. I know that one. I can recite half the poetry from Tolkien. She grinned in the dark. 'Gil-galad was an Elven king, of him the harpers sadly sing...'  
  
Hermione laughed. I don't want to hear all of it now, she said. Save it. Whenever we hit some big landmark from the books you can have a poem ready for the occasion.  
  
I'll hold you to that, you know, said Eloise, standing up. You'll have to endure a ballad or something for just about every square foot of this place...  
  
Oh, save me, save me, Hermione muttered sarcastically. What are you getting?  
  
Something to eat, said Eloise, stumbling slightly in the growing dark as she made her way to the bags. I'm starving.  
  
Hermione followed her. Don't get too much, she said worriedly. We have to conserve... I think this'll last us two days or so, if we're careful...  
  
Eloise froze. Only two days? she repeated. Why didn't you say so before?  
  
Hermione opened her mouth, but Sirius' voice cut off her reply. Dobby, can you make some kind of light? I can't see a thing I'm doing.  
  
Dobby squeaked incoherently, and suddenly there was a bright, clear light filling the clearing. Sirius looked up, squinting and blinking in surprise. he muttered, as if he hardly believed it. Well, I think this thing's ready. Try the activation spell. Sirius bent back over his map.  
  
Draco slipped off his tree stump and slunk over to Eloise and Hermione. he said dryly. Are we ever getting any dinner? Or does being made of magic mean we're immortal, or something?  
  
Hermione glared at him and snapped, For your information, no, we are not immortal this way. Draco blinked and uncrossed his arms at her tone. I don't think so, anyway, Hermione went on, less harshly. I really don't know much about this. There's only so much that books and math can tell you. This is all new territory. But I do know that I'm hungry, so I guess we have to eat to survive, just like normal.  
  
Draco made a small noise of consent. He looked over Hermione's shoulder, checking on Snape and Lupin; Hermione followed his gaze.  
  
Snape was leaning on the tree trunk next to Lupin, staring up into the dark branches, fingering the empty potion bottle. Apparently he'd been sitting there for some time, doing nothing; his scowl was back, a small distortion at one corner of his mouth, making his expression perpetually unpleasant. Lupin himself was fully bandaged and cleaned up; all there was to do now was to wait for him to heal.  
  
How are we going to get out of these woods with only two days of food _and_ Professor Lupin to take care of? Eloise asked suddenly. Hermione looked sharply at her and saw that her eyes were wide with the sudden realization of their predicament.  
  
Hermione shook her head. I don't know. This was never going to be easy. Now it's just a little harder.  
  
A _little?_ repeated Draco incredulously. We only have _two days'_ worth of food? Good Lord, Granger, could you have mentioned this _a little_ earlier?  
  
Hermione began to say, Oh, shut up, but once again Sirius' voice interrupted her. Everyone's eyes, even Snape's, turned to him as he made his sudden announcement.  
  
I've got it, he said loudly, standing up and holding out the map. It shows all seven of us now.  
  
Hermione stood and took it from him, looking it over. A relieved smile broke over her face, and she thrust the map into Draco's face triumphantly. See, Malfoy? You can stuff it. Draco jerked backwards, indignant.  
  
What is it? asked Eloise, trying to take the map from Hermione for a look.  
  
We're hardly two miles from the eastern edge of the forest, she said smugly. If we can make it through the barrow-downs in two days -- which is perfectly possible, I mean, the hobbits got through that fast, and they even got lost for a while -- if we can make it before our food runs out, we ought to hit Bree pretty quickly. See, Eloise, you'll have to sing that one about the man in the moon when we get there. She grinned.  
  
Eloise smiled back. That's great! We've actually got a plan.  
  
Tomorrow morning, we head out, said Hermione firmly. This is the beginning... just don't expect it to be over anytime soon.  
----------


	10. And Now For Something Completely Differe...

A/N: Right. Back to Harry's world. Sorry, sorry! You'll see what happens to Herm and the others eventually! In the next chapter, actually. This chapter is much shorter than the last one... and, well, *sigh.* I don't think I'm going to be writing much in the near future. I'm sort of having some difficult family health problems. This has been my first experience with real stress, the kind of stress that makes you feel sick or like you're about to collapse. And I'm not really recovered from it yet. Which is why this A/N is a little inarticulate. But just wait it out. My mind has to be a lot more organized before I can try to pick this up again. And I'm about to start school, which means I won't be very organized for a time yet.  
  
As a matter of fact, we all (myself and audience included) may have to consider the possibility that I just can't finish this story. I may have to give it up. I'm really sorry. If I decide to give up writing I will at least go ahead and tell you my plot outline, so you can see the ending, even if you can't get there the dramatic way. I know it's unfair. My life is being very unfair right now. Life is just like that.  
  
Thank you.  
Raven  
  
----------  
Chapter Ten: And Now For Something Completely Different!  
----------  
  
Deep blue curtains were flung back all around the seventh year Ravenclaw girls' dormitory, letting the clear, pale winter sunlight have free reign of the open spaces. Four girls blinked and squinted, yawning against the intrusion of dawn; but a fifth girl stood in the center of the room, breathing deep in the fresh air flowing through the open windows. She was of obvious Asian descent, with almond-shaped blackish-brown eyes, long, straight black hair, and high cheekbones. This girl's name was Cho Chang, and today was one of her favorite days -- in half an hour, the Ravenclaw team would being going out for Quidditch practice.  
  
Cho ignored the loudly mumbled protests from all the other girls, and leaned on the windowsill of their third-floor dorm room. Unlike the Gryffindors, the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff common rooms and dormitories weren't in towers -- thankfully they weren't in the dungeons either, of course -- but sometimes Cho was envious of the height the Gryffindors must have, up there in their tower rooms. Cho loved heights; the feeling of flying was the most wonderful, exhilarating thing in the world.  
  
So Cho was always in a good mood when a day of Quidditch practice was coming up. She grinned out at the weak sun and frost-covered grounds, happy beyond words.  
  
The rest of her team grumbled at how early practice was today, and they ate little at breakfast; but as the team Captain, Cho felt that it was her duty to keep her team on its toes. As soon as they were done, she ushered them out into the locker rooms.  
  
After a brief discussion of the moves and tactics they'd be practicing, the team emerged from the lockers, shivering without their cloaks. Only Cho was perfectly comfortable in her bright blue Quidditch robes, anticipating the warmth that a good workout on her Comet 260 would bring.  
  
She _could_ afford a newer broom model -- but she had always refused the idea of a new broomstick. She and her Comet 260 were as close as a writer and their pen. She could never part with the old-model broom -- it would be nearly as hard as parting with her mother when she was born. Anyway, although the broom had a slight list to the left if you flew it for more than an hour or so, Cho had used it for so long that compensating with her own weight wasn't even a conscious thought. As far as she was concerned, the broom flew perfectly.  
  
She hopped onto her broom and gave the signal for Lisa Turpin, one of the Beaters, to release the four balls. As one of the Bludgers zoomed out of the box, it headed straight for Lisa; she lifted her bat and swung as hard as she could, knocking the Bludger out towards the bleachers with a resounding _thunk!_  
  
Any leftover fatigue vanished from the atmosphere, as the rest of the team cheered clamorously. Cho's yell rose above the others like a battle cry, and she kicked off from the ground, zooming into the air with a speed that the old Comet really shouldn't have been able to handle; she left her stomach far behind on the ground, but that didn't matter -- all she needed in order to survive up here was her spirit.  
  
She flew all around the pitch, ducking, dodging, shouting directions to the others when she saw a falter or a hesitation; and watching, scanning all the while, looking for the tiniest hint of gold... ultimately, playing the perfect game.  
  
Cho reveled in perfection, but at the same time she loved new adventures, new challenges; she had a wild spirit, that only revealed itself on the Quidditch pitch nowadays. Ever since Cedric...  
  
Well, things just hadn't been the same without him.  
  
Cho had really, honestly loved Cedric. He was a nice guy, not just the perfect Hufflepuff idol. He hadn't lied about anything, letting his fame among the students spread of its own accord. He never asked to be admired; he was simply himself, and he let things fall as they happened to fall. He'd once told Cho that he loved her; and Cedric was always honest. A part of her heart had died with him. As her first boyfriend... no, not just boyfriend. More than that. Her first love.  
  
True love. That was more like it.  
  
When he died, a large part of her will had simply stopped, frozen dead in its tracks. She simply didn't _feel_ like going out, looking for adventure. Quidditch was enough. She loved it, and she knew that it wouldn't die on her -- so she played Quidditch.  
  
That was what she _did_. Simply because she was in Ravenclaw didn't mean she was a bookish library-hog. Quidditch was her _life_ -- all the life she had left, anyway.  
  
Cho turned her thoughts to happier subjects as she soared higher, trying to get a good view of the field. She was flying... some people said that if men were meant to fly, they would have been given wings; Cho did not share this belief. Her proud posture on the broom screamed out, Look! Why should I need wings? I can fly! _Fly!_'  
  
So Cho flew; with a vengeance.  
  
Hey, Douglas -- Bludger! she shouted, as a speeding black ball rushed towards her best Chaser's head. Lisa Turpin veered in just in time, swinging her bat with all the strength she possessed. Douglas swerved around to land a perfect catch and throw, all in one fluid motion -- the Quaffle went dead-on through the goal hoop Douglas had aimed for. Terry Boot swooped underneath the hoop and caught the ball before it fell even halfway to the ground.  
  
Everyone was executing their moves perfectly. Cho smiled, showing off perfect, white teeth -- this was just what she had hoped for. They had a game against Slytherin on Saturday, and if they played this well then... well, there'd be a good bet on who would win the Quidditch Cup this year. Cho longed to win the Cup once more before she graduated. Ravenclaw had won in her fifth year, but Gryffindor had absolutely abolished both Ravenclaw and Slytherin last year. Surprisingly, it had been a very close run between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor in the last game of the season, but eventually the latter won -- by a narrow margin of twenty points. Hufflepuff considered this quite a victory for their team, even if they didn't win the Cup itself -- usually Hufflepuff came in third or fourth, and then by an extremely long shot. But due to their new team Captain, they were now far better organized and trained -- a formidable opponent.  
  
Cho looked around, scanning in every direction for the Golden Snitch. She rose even further into the air, so fast that her ears popped. There wasn't enough altitude yet to make her feel dizzy, but she had almost reached the top of the highest hoop... over fifty feet...  
  
Another five feet and she could see the grounds all around the outside of the pitch, but there was still no visible glimmer of the Snitch...  
  
What the... Cho muttered, not even looking at the pitch any longer. Something outside the field had caught her eye -- a tiny, milky white dome out by the Forbidden Forest, maybe two hundred yards from the groundskeeper's hut.  
  
But there was something else. Near the dome there was a small black smudge -- three black smudges, spread out a bit. From this height she couldn't be sure, but those smudges looked an awful lot like...  
  
She zoomed down into earshot of her team an shouted, Hey! Oy! Stop practice!  
  
The others looked up at her curiously; Douglas tucked the Quaffle under his arm and called, What's up?  
  
There's something on the grounds. I think we should investigate.  
  
Lisa frowned and asked, It must be serious -- what'd you see?  
  
It looks an awful lot like bodies, Cho replied grimly.  
  
Douglas promptly dropped the Quaffle, which fell twenty feet to land with a bouncing thud on the packed dirt below.  
  
Come on, Cho called. We can fly faster than walking -- Tony, Mavis, could you catch the Bludgers and lock them up?  
  
echoed Anthony and Mavis, the former of whom was the second Beater; the latter, the Keeper.  
  
Cho nodded and sped for the entrance to the field. Neither Tony or Mavis had the skill to catch the Golden Snitch, but they were the only ones with the sheer muscle to wrestle the Bludgers back into their case. Besides, here was an enchantment on the Snitch to make it stay within the bounds of the pitch, so Cho could come back to find it any time.  
  
Cho led her three Chasers and one Beater out of the entrance to the Quidditch field, zipping between the two gateposts with precise speed and accuracy. The team was proving itself to be incredible this year -- so much so that Cho expected it to be a close call between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor for the Cup.  
  
Frowning against the wind that whipped her long black hair out of its ponytail, she skimmed across the lawns almost twenty feet above the ground. She could see what she was aiming for at this height -- the three black smudges sharpened through the early-morning mist until they were clearly visible as bodies.  
  
Exactly what Cho had expected -- but not what she'd hoped -- to see.  
  
Her heart and throat tightened with foreboding. What if some of Voldemort's surviving followers had struck their final departing blow right here, at the school? As if all the students who had died already weren't enough -- as if Cedric wasn't enough --  
  
Red hair. The spread-eagled body of the closest student had flaming red hair -- hair that was instantly recognizable to anyone who had been at Hogwarts during all the years of the Weasley reign. It must be Ron, Harry Potter's friend; he and his little sister Ginny were the only Weasley children left at the school, and this sprawled form was far too tall to be the petite Ginny.  
  
Cho flew on, gaining speed as she frantically ran to see who the other people were. A short way from Ron lay a girl Cho didn't recognize; definitely someone from Gryffindor, but Cho couldn't place the name. Finally, nearly twenty yards from Ron and the nameless girl...  
  
It couldn't be. _No -- _he'd already defeated the Dark Lord! What had happened, how could -- _how could Harry Potter be dead?_  
  
Lisa, Douglas and the others swooped around her as she leaned her broom nose-down, slowing for a landing. Lisa started to follow her, but Cho waved her back. As the Asian girl tumbled onto the grass, she looked over her shoulder and called, Check the others!  
  
Staggering from the awkward landing, Cho half-ran, half-fell the few feet to where Harry lay still. She was so frantic that she almost didn't notice the slow rise and fall of the boy's chest. Kneeling over him, she felt for a pulse on his neck; when she found it, steady and strong, she had to stifle an audible exclamation of relief.  
  
She fumbled for her wand, which she always kept nearby, even during Quidditch, games and practice alike; pointing it at Harry, she said _  
_  
Harry's eyes snapped open. Blinking once or twice to clear his vision, he squinted into Cho's face. he said incredulously, then turned a deep shade of magenta. He looked away from her face and struggled to sit up, holding his head as if he were dizzy.  
  
Hey -- wait, no, don't do that, said Cho, putting her hands on his shoulders. You could be hurt. I mean, are you? Hurt?  
  
Harry shook his head, and winced. No, don't think so. Just dizzy. That blast...  
  
What blast?  
  
You didn't feel it?  
  
  
  
Last night, around three thirty...  
  
I was asleep. What were you doing up that late? And what _happened?_  
  
I -- it doesn't matter, Harry muttered, looking away. Cho instantly suspected something big, but she didn't push her luck. There was a sort of explosion. I'm all right. He held onto Cho's arm for steadiness as he rose to his feet. Ron and Natalie, they were out here too -- I think they were behind me -- and Professor Lupin, he was running in front --  
  
I saw Ron and, er, Natalie, said Cho, holding Harry up as he took a few wavering steps. But there's only three of you out here, that I saw -- She frowned. Why was Professor Lupin out that late? It was a half-moon.  
  
Yeah, I know, he -- well, it would take too long, said Harry evasively. I have to find Ron...  
  
They're right back here, said Cho, hurriedly picking up her fallen broom and leading Harry across the grounds to where Ron and Natalie had already been revived by the other four Ravenclaws.  
  
How'd you find us? asked Harry, as they walked. I mean, besides the fact that we were in plain sight?  
  
Quidditch practice, Cho answered shortly. I was above the stands looking for the Snitch. That -- she nodded over her shoulder to where the milky white dome stood several dozen yards away -- caught the corner of my eye.  
  
Harry looked over his shoulder, confused; when he saw the dome he stopped in his tracks and simply stared. What the hell...?  
  
Ron was running flat-out towards Harry and Cho. Behind him Natalie followed more slowly, surrounded by the rest of the Quidditch team. Cho looked up and saw Anthony and Mavis flying over to them to see what was going on.  
  
Ron! Are you okay? Harry called, trying to run but only succeeding at staggering into Cho's arms. The Ravenclaw girl righted him, and he blushed, giving her an almost goofy-looking smile of thanks. She smiled inwardly, remembering the time he'd asked her to go to the Yule Ball with him. It was terribly obvious that he had a crush on her. For two years she'd convinced herself that no one could ever replace Cedric, but now, with one arm around Harry's shoulders and her hand on his arm, she wasn't so sure. Harry was nice -- and just like Cedric in that he didn't encourage his fame. He always tried to do the right thing, no matter what. Really, he and Cedric weren't all that different.  
  
She felt her face getting warm, and tried not to think about boys at all as she was confronted with a barrage of confusing questions, with the foremost inquiry being What the hell is going _on_ here?'  
  
Douglas was suddenly right there by her, grinning from ear to ear with relief. Everyone looks fine, Cho -- they're being close about what happened --  
  
Cho nodded him away. Harry's a bit disoriented. I think we should get him to the hospital wing.  
  
Douglas nodded back, and went back to talking among the others, trying to catch a hint of an explanation. Ron materialized out of the crowd to support Harry's other side, and Natalie trotted next to them, holding a hand to her temple but seeming fine otherwise.  
  
I'll get you to the hospital wing, but I expect an explanation, Cho grumbled as they walked on towards the castle. She let go of Harry's arm for a moment to tuck her broom more securely under her arm. She still had to get back on the field and catch the Snitch sometime today, and it seemed more like a chore now than it had a mere twenty minutes ago.  
  
What's up, Harry? Ron was saying. I feel fine.  
  
But I was closer, said Harry, wincing. I've got a massive headache, that's all. And I can't stand up straight, apparently.  
  
You're just a little off balance. Happens when you get knocked out really hard, Cho interjected. I got hit by a Stunning spell at point-blank range during one of the battles. Waking up was a nightmare.  
  
Harry nodded, and immediately wished he hadn't. The headache was only increasing with time, instead of dying away.  
  
Madam Pomfrey can probably fix you up, Cho continued, and thanked Natalie as she opened the front doors of the castle for the others.  
  
What's going on, Cho? asked Lisa Turpin, scurrying up beside her.  
  
We're taking Harry to the hospital wing. I think practice is over, she added pointedly, nodding at Lisa's broom.  
  
Lisa frowned. But it's our last practice before the game on Saturday. Shouldn't we --  
  
It's fine, interrupted Cho. I couldn't find a single flaw, anyway. You all played perfectly.  
  
Lisa and the other team members allowed themselves grins. Anthony asked of Cho's retreating back, What about the Snitch?  
  
I'll pack it up later, Cho called. She was struck with sudden inspiration. Unless you think you can catch it. Make it a competition. Whoever catches it gets the first test ride on my Firebolt 37, if it ever ships properly. The Ravenclaws whooped with delight, and the others turned a corner, out of their sight.  
  
Halfway to the hospital wing, they reached a cross-corridor; Harry tried to turn left, but Cho gripped his shoulders tighter and turned him back on the right path. Where d'you think you're going? she asked, as Harry made a small noise of protest.  
  
Dumbledore's office, he gasped. He has to know --  
  
Know what?  
  
No. No, can't say.  
  
Cho sighed. Er -- Natalie? The other girl looked up, startled out of her own deep thoughts. Could you get Professor Dumbledore? Tell him Harry's in the hospital wing, and wants to talk.  
  
said Natalie, shrugging. Her nonchalant manner seemed a bit stiff and acted, however; Cho glanced over her shoulder as Natalie turned back to the left-hand corridor, and saw that the girl was half-trotting, half-running, as if the message was far more urgent than her shrug had indicated.  
  
Cho shifted her arm out from under Harry in order to open the hospital wing door, when they reached it a few minutes later. The spacious white room appeared to empty, so Cho called out Madam Pomfrey's name.  
  
What is it? Trying to get an early start at it today? said a grumpy voice from the door to Pomfrey's office, which was slightly ajar. For heaven's sake, I've only just got in... The door was yanked open, and a sleepy-looking Madam Pomfrey marched out. Her eye caught Harry, standing there holding his head with a pained expression, and she rolled her eyes. How often do you plan on trying to kill yourself, Potter? I swear, I don't even remember your father giving me this much trouble... Oh, come here, come here. What have you been up to this time? She shot Ron a glare all of his own as she led Harry to one of the beds. He sat with his legs over the side, refusing to lay down until he could get a word in.  
  
Cho interrupted before Harry could speak. I found him and Ron out on the grounds, Madam, she said, businesslike. And Natalie... um...  
  
supplied Ron.  
  
Yeah. They were all unconscious -- me and the rest of the team revived them...  
  
...But my head is killing me, cut in Harry.  
  
Any pain in your scar? asked Madam Pomfrey, frowning.  
  
grunted Harry, wincing. Just dizzy, and a headache. I've never had a _normal_ headache this bad before.  
  
You say Mr. Weasley was unconscious as well -- how do you feel? She directed the question at Ron.  
  
Ron shrugged uncomfortably. he said, glancing at Harry. I was a little dizzy when I woke up, but it passed.  
  
What were the circumstances under which this happened? said Madam Pomfrey severely, walking to a nearby cabinet to pick up ingredients for a potion.  
  
Harry shook his head and opened his mouth, probably to refuse to speak once again, but at that moment the door swung open and the Headmaster walked in, followed by Natalie.  
  
Dumbledore peered over the tops of his half-moon glasses, concerned. Miss MacDonald said it was urgent. Madam Pomfrey straightened instantly at the sound of the Headmaster's voice, and her eyes snapped to Harry at his remark.  
  
Yes, sir, Harry croaked. Hermione --  
  
Ron nudged Harry and shot a warning glance at Cho, who crossed her arms stubbornly and planted her feet firmly on the smooth stone floor.  
  
Dumbledore followed Ron's look and smiled thinly at Cho. Perhaps you should start from the beginning, for Miss Chang's sake, he said, turning to Harry.  
  
Harry opened his mouth in confusion. But --  
  
I don't perform Memory Charms on my own students, Harry, Dumbledore said gently. She has chosen to involve herself in the matter, and willing minds are the best kind.  
  
Harry hesitated, but Dumbledore nodded at him with such a sense of inarguability that Harry was forced to gather his thoughts and start from the top.  
  
Cho listened intently as Harry spoke. Ron shuffled his feet, bored despite himself; he'd heard it so many times before that he was getting tired of the story. Finally, Harry concluded with the story of how he'd woken up suddenly last night with the feeling that he had to find Hermione before it was too late; how he, Ron, Natalie, and Professor Lupin had been out on the grounds under the strange blackness; how Lupin had realized the full danger of Dobby's untamed, boundless magic, and had gone running on ahead of the others. Being the closest to the source of the blast, Harry had been knocked out the hardest; he reasoned that Ron felt nothing because he had been too far away for the full impact to hit him.  
  
Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey were frowning deeply when Harry finished. You were right to contact me first, Harry, said Dumbledore, looking grave. This is serious. Do you know if Hermione had the ring with her?  
  
Harry shook his head. All I know is that Sn -- Professor Snape, Malfoy, Dobby, Sirius, Hermione, and Eloise were under that tree when the blast hit, and that Cho couldn't find Professor Lupin anywhere. I'm guessing he reached them just before the blast.  
  
Dumbledore nodded. I'll have to call another staff meeting. Poppy, please try to alleviate Harry's pain as quickly as you can, and come to my office. Madam Pomfrey nodded, her face drawn.  
  
As Dumbledore strode quickly out, Madam Pomfrey looked Harry over once again and said, If I didn't know better, I think I'd start calling you Potter Stormcrow. How is you always bring bad news? She began bustling around, hurrying to complete a potion that might help with Harry's headache.  
  
Harry gawped at her. _You've_ read the books?  
  
Of course I have, said Poppy absently. Those Muggles aren't all bad, you know. Some of them certainly know how to write. She snorted. All those doctors with their machines, of course -- ridiculous, simply ridiculous. There are all _sorts_ of sensitive high-frequency scanning spells that can detect smaller problems than all their chunky equipment could _dream_ of... She went on muttering to herself as she prepared the potion, walking out of earshot towards her office.  
  
Cho was staring at Harry, unable to hide her wide-eyed astonishment. Why hasn't anyone been told about all this? she blurted. I mean, this is _serious!_  
  
The teachers know, Harry grumbled. It's not like fighting Voldemort, you don't need a huge number of people to fix it. I just wish Hermione hadn't decided to take it into her own hands.  
  
If the ring has her... Ron muttered.  
  
Then we're screwed, cut in Natalie. What if she comes back? She can use this bridge thing to come back, can't she? What's going to happen to _our_ world?  
  
Harry said, so forcefully that all three of the others blinked. He winced and leaned forward, putting his head in both hands. Nothing's going to happen to our world, he murmured. We'll be fine. I don't think Hermione would fall for the ring. I trust her.  
  
Isn't that just great for you, said Natalie sarcastically. If you had told me all of this stuff before you went running out into that blackness, I would've --  
  
What? You would have gotten a teacher, wouldn't you? Ron gave Natalie a distasteful look. You did that anyway. Look how much good _that_ did. Natalie glared at him.  
  
I was _going_ to say that I wouldn't have tried to stop you. If we could have gotten there a few minutes earlier we might've been able to stop your crazy friend. Who, as it happens, I _don't_ trust.  
  
Ron opened and shut his mouth once or twice, then clamped his jaws shut and looked firmly away from Natalie, trying to hold onto a scrap of dignity.  
  
They went on talking and arguing until Madam Pomfrey came rustling over with Harry's potion. Harry held his breath, ignored the smell, and instantly downed the whole gobletful in one gulp. He was apparently more desperate to get rid of the headache than he had outwardly seemed. He spluttered for a moment, trying to swallow too much at once; but when he had gulped one last time to force the last of it down his throat, his face cleared enormously. He gave Madam Pomfrey a heartfelt thanks and she nodded, making some random comment about how it was merely her job, and how she wished he'd stop finding reasons to come see her anyway.  
  
Harry found that his balance was restored, so he, Ron, Natalie, and Cho made their way out of the hospital wing, followed closely by Madam Pomfrey. The nurse turned to the right and walked briskly down the corridor, turning a corner and going out of sight almost before Harry could blink.  
  
There's one thing I don't get, Cho said as they wandered along the halls, eventually coming to a stop in the library. That dome thing out there, near where we found you -- what is it? And where did Professor Lupin go? She looked around at the others and found her own expression mirrored on three other faces: a worried frown that traced deep lines in her forehead.  
  
Harry walked around the shelves until he found a north-facing window. All four of them stared through the age-stained glass, their shadowed eyes searching out the Knut-sized white spot near the Forest.  
  
I don't know, said Harry in a low voice, mainly so Madam Pince wouldn't throw him out. What it is. I just... I don't know. This was Hermione's territory.  
  
Well, what do we do? said Natalie, crossing her arms. Isn't there anything...?  
  
I think we should wait for Dumbledore, replied Ron, sitting down.  
  
Silence greeted his remark. They all wanted anything but to wait; but waiting was all they could do.  
  
A moment later Professor Vector entered the library and muttered something to Madam Pince, and they both left the room, with worried, urgent looks on their faces, leaving the four teenagers with no company but moldy books and quiet, dusty sunlight.  
  
------------  
  
Two days passed and finally Harry received word from Dumbledore on the state of affairs in accordance with Hermione and the ring.  
  
It was explained that the white dome was a circle of protection, driving age and decay away from the bodies of those who had traversed the bridge. A quick scanning spell had showed that Professor Lupin's body was inside the circle, and thus he was assumed to be in Middle-earth with the other six mismatched intruders. According to Dumbledore, there was absolutely nothing that could be done. Hermione had broken the only Time-Turner in the castle -- which had belonged to Dumbledore himself -- in order to use its sand in the spell, and there was not another to be had, because the Ministry had put a ban on all such objects after Voldemort's followers had begun using them to escape into the future from crime scenes. Hermione could not be followed; and with that course of action ruled out, there was nothing else that could be done.  
  
Except to wait.  
  
So Harry waited. He, Ron, Natalie and Cho became the only students in the entire castle to know about Hermione's desperate journey, and they kept in close touch with each other, meeting after classes, at meals, and in the library to talk. Natalie warmed up to Ron and Harry eventually, but she remained a stubborn young girl, and Ron gave her many a deep sigh and rolling of his eyes. Harry was noticeably uncomfortable around Cho, but Cho kept deliberately starting conversations with him anyway; Natalie, if no one else, could see exactly what was happening, and she smiled quietly to herself when she watched the two.  
  
Harry found himself missing Hermione enormously as a week passed; her ability to scold him into really studying; her peculiar way of making him feel like education was a genuinely interesting thing, despite all his outward scorn for it. One week became two, and three, and that became a month; the moon waxed into full maturity, and Harry wondered how Professor Lupin was doing in a strange land, without the help and relative comfort of his monthly Wolfsbane Potion. And when January passed uneventfully, Harry found that he sorely missed Sirius' pranks.  
  
Ron, though he tried to hide it, was obviously pining for Eloise; he ate little and paid sharper attention in classes, as if to take his mind off of other, less pleasant subjects. Cho sympathized with him, often joining the two boys at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall -- but though she had many comforting words for Ron, she always took a seat by Harry's side.  
  
One month drifted into two, and as the weeks passed the seasons shifted, almost imperceptibly, thawing day by day; until the dull, wintry atmosphere had brightened into a warm, beautiful spring.  
  
But whenever Harry looked out the window, it was with a troubled mind and a heavy heart; and his eyes did not see the life and beauty of a perfect spring -- only a small, unobtrusive white dome, distant as if untouchable, set off by a dark backdrop of forbidding trees.  
------------  
  
A/N: Right, that was basically it for Harry's world. If your hopes were still up for Harry or Ron or someone else going into Middle-earth, I'm sorry. The 7 who are now in the LotR universe will be the only ones to go there, for the rest of the fic. Oh, and one other thing -- way back in the 2nd chapter, Viktor Krum sent Harry and Ron daggers, right? Well, I had thought at the time that they might be important later in the story, but by now my idea of the plot has cemented itself, and as it turns out, the daggers are completely pointless. They won't make any further appearances. Well, I was just trying to get the right feel for the story back then, so some things may be a little inconsistent with the earliest chapters.  
  
The next chapter is half-done, but I don't know when it will be decently readable. But it does have a little twist all of my own -- Sirius reading tarot! I couldn't resist. I just got a deck and they're really fascinating -- and of course the saying is that you write what you know.' Of course, sometimes that doesn't apply, like with the fact that I HATE heights. Writing Cho's personality was HARD, because I'm absolutely mortified with fear by just climbing up a _stepladder,_ for heaven's sakes. Thankfully I have a vivid imagination.  
  
So, just keep me in mind... but don't bother checking daily. This is a terrible time for me, and family comes first.  
  
If you like my style and want to read more of my stuff, be warned that most of what's currently posted isn't Harry Potter. I write a truckload of HP fic, mind, it's just not posted. But there's a funny, stupid story called Insanity @ 3 AM, which doesn't actually have a plot, but it does have Siri and Remey in it. *drools* Stress will never damage my ability to fawn all over those two... Harry? Harry who? *chases Sirius, ignoring Harry, who is looking indignant*


	11. Just As Long As We Don't Kill Each Other

A/N: I ended the last chapter with time elapsing in huge chunks; not so in this chpt. We've rewound once again, and we're back to the second day in Middle-earth. I made the amount of time that had elapsed last time very vague, also -- this is because I have no idea how long Herm and the others will be in Middle-earth. Obviously it has to be at least two months, but I seriously think it may end up being six...  
  
Tarot. I like tarot cards -- I think they are a neat idea, I really think they work when they are treated properly, and all in all I respect them and the people who read them. I mean no offense to anyone who is anti-tarot. I certainly don't presume to be an expert in tarot, though the tarot spell at the beginning is my own invention. I looked up the right candles and stones to use, as well as cards. Sirius' deck in the story is the same as my deck in real life, called the Celtic Dragon Tarot. It's a really recent deck in RL, so we're pretending that in the fictional world, it came out several decades ago. I toyed with the idea of giving Sirius a Rider Waite deck, because it's pretty well-known -- unfortunately I have never seen a Rider Waite deck, and I was uncomfortable writing about one. If you've never seen the Celtic Dragon deck, all the pictures have dragons involved in one way or another. They're really beautiful cards.  
  
Family life has been patched up quite cleanly, unless Dad has a coronary over the hospital bills, which will make it all bad again... *rolls eyes* That won't happen. I hope. Anyway, I'm finally in school and am actually enjoying it (the shock! the horror!). It just leaves me even less time to write, which is icky. But I'm still truckin' along.  
  
Now, that's all over with. I know that what you actually want is the story. :) This chpt is a lot shorter than normal, but I'm hoping to make up for that next time. *waggles eyebrows suspiciously* After you, montressor! (Poe, the Cask of Amontillado (or however you spell it). For the love of God, Montressor! I claim to be weird, but NO ONE is as weird as Poe.)  
  
------------  
Chapter Eleven: Just As Long As We Don't Kill Each Other...  
------------  
  
Hermione woke to a particularly awkward feeling of damp, chilly stiffness. Sleeping outdoors might be a nice thought, but it was certainly an unpleasant reality. She opened her eyes a fraction, but everything was dim and blurry through her sleep-saturated vision.  
  
Momentarily she realized what had woken her at this ungodly hour of the morning -- besides her overall discomfort.  
  
Two familiar, murmuring voices were conversing nearby.  
  
I feel ridiculous.  
  
Oh, really? And here I thought you felt like you'd gotten at the receiving end of a stampede of rabid hippogriffs.  
  
Well, yes, that too. Why on earth do you find it necessary to resort to this Muggle nonsense?  
  
Because I _am_ a Muggle now. Close enough, anyway. Now hush, I'm concentrating.  
  
On what? Rocks?  
  
Oh, shut up. I'm about to run out of friendly sympathy.  
  
Yes, you always said that when we were in school. That was usually right before a full moon, when, as I recall, you'd buy out about half the candy store for my sake.  
  
As if you needed any more sugar. I don't know what I was thinking. Here, hold this.  
  
_Me?_ _You're_ the one who always saved me the trouble of opening everything.  
  
Hermione blinked several times, until her sight cleared adequately enough for her to see the speakers. She recognized the voices, of course; but what they were doing, she had no idea.  
  
she croaked, her throat dry and rough, as it usually felt in the mornings.  
  
The young man jumped, his head snapping up instantly, sending droplets of water flying. He was sitting cross-legged on the ground next to Remus, who seemed to be back to his normal calm, collected manner despite being incapacitated. The professor was lying on his back on one of the few blankets Hermione had produced from her bag last night; he was dressed in one of Sirius' spare robes, and in one hand he held a very worn-looking book. As he'd mentioned, there was one small rock on his forehead and another on his chest.  
  
Sirius himself was holding what looked like a deck of cards. His hair was soaking wet, as if he'd just dunked his head in the river. Hermione squinted and shook her head, drawing a complete blank.  
  
Sirius hissed. You broke my concentration!  
  
Remus muttered smugly.  
  
You're right, she rasped, sitting up and stretching her neck creakingly, you do look ridiculous. What are you doing?  
  
Well, Sirius here has deemed that my predicament calls for an innocent little application of voodoo --  
  
It's paganism, shut up, snapped Sirius. Anyway, Muggles do this stuff a lot, and it actually seems to work sometimes. It's worth a try.  
  
You've lost me, Hermione muttered, crawling to the packs and getting a drink of water out of one of the flasks she'd filled in the stream.  
  
That's not hard, said Remus; not with Sirius.  
  
Sirius said quickly, before Remus could cut in with another sarcastic remark. Some Muggles do tarot spells. And I still say it can't hurt to try one of the healing ones.  
  
Remus rolled his eyes. If I could move, I'd have no part in this. Unfortunately, someone seems to have mistaken me for dead and mummified me before my time.  
  
I'd thump you if I didn't think it'd make you scream, Sirius muttered.  
  
Oh, please don't, said Remus dryly. I'm ever so fragile. You forget, _dear_ Padfoot, I do this every month. This time it's merely a bit off-schedule. Perhaps a bit more severe than usual, but hardly different.  
  
Sirius went a very slight shade of pink and pointedly went back to perusing his tarot deck.  
  
Where'd you get that, anyway? Hermione asked through a mouthful of bread, pointing at the deck. She had decided that she would have a bite for breakfast, then wake up the others, so that they could get going -- no reason to put it off any longer.  
  
My mum was something between a witch and a Squib. She didn't have enough magic to be able to develop it properly at a school, but her intuition was so precise that it could only be a hint of magic showing through. She used tarot cards to hone it. She gave me this deck when I took Divination in third year. Trelawny's a nut, anyway. He shook his head. Mum taught me everthing I actually know about divination.  
  
Hermione made a face. It's all too woolly for me.  
  
Oh, thank God, a kindred spirit, Remus said from the ground, rolling his eyes upward in mock depair. Please, save me from this maniac.  
  
Why do you have rocks on you, anyway? asked Hermione, grinning widely.  
  
Remus groaned. Sirius ignored him and answered gruffly, Not just rocks. A piece of tektite over his third eye, representing astral travel, and a piece of tiger's eye over his heart, for healing.  
  
Hermione gawped momentarily. Oy. You really are into this stuff.  
  
Got a problem with that? asked Sirius grumpily, taking his book back from Remus and cross-referencing some card or other.  
  
Hermione snorted.  
  
groused Sirius. I've got the right cards, now _shut up_ this time, and let me concentrate.  
  
Hermione shrugged and remained silent as she watched Sirius take a three candles and another rock, this one shaped rather like an X, out of his robe pocket. The candles were black, red, and magenta, all of varying half-melted heights. Remus let out a resigned sigh as Sirius placed them in a semi-circle above Remus' head.  
  
Sirius walked around the still werewolf, laying down three cards on the ground around him: one by his right hand, another by his left, and the last by his feet. Finally Sirius resumed his cross-legged position by the candles, took a small packet of matches out of his pocket, and lit the wicks. Finally he laid out a fourth card and the X-shaped rock, one on either side of the half-circle of candles.  
  
Sirius began to speak, under his breath, going a deep shade of pink in the process. Hermione wished she could hear what he was saying.  
  
Remus jerked, and his eyes snapped open wide. What was that? he asked, sounding surprsied.  
  
What was what? asked Sirius, obviously embarrassed by having Hermione as an audience.  
  
I felt something.  
  
I believe I'll politely refrain from saying I told you so. Sirius allowed himself a small grin. Anyway, this deck has been in my family for ages. It's bound to be saturated with residual magic. He blew out the candles and left them to cool off as he picked up his three rocks and four cards.  
  
Let me see those, Remus demanded, watching rather helplessly as Sirius walked around him.  
  
Sirius handed Remus the four cards as he went on repacking the other things.  
  
The Moon I understand... Remus muttered. Excuse me, why is there a Death card in here? Are you trying to kill me?  
  
No, we've already had a close enough shave with that, Sirius replied, kneeling by the other man and pointing at the various cards. Death is actually a good card, not a lot of people realize that. It means rebirth, transformation from something old into something better. Remus hmphed. The Moon -- binding illness and all that rot. The Star was east, that's all about spiritual stuff; and the Three of Cups was west. It means... Sirius wrinkled his nose. It means... prosperity, technically. But Cups are Water, if you're going by linking suits and elements, and Water is always thought of as a sort of healing thing. Mostly about the emotional state of whoever's being read for.  
  
Remus handed the cards back and said, All well and good, but I swear I felt something.  
  
If you say that again, I'll be _forced_ to say I told you so. Sirius put the four cards back randomly into the deck and shuffled it once or twice for good measure.  
  
Well, since you're done, I think we should get the others up. We have to get started. Hermione stood up from her stiff position by the packs.  
  
Sirius nodded in consent.  
  
Draco and Eloise moaned and grumbled about the miserably early, damp wake-up call, but Snape rose without comment, his scowl back in full force. Hermione quickly confirmed that Dobby was awake,' though he really didn't have to sleep in the form he was in anyway. Sirius got the elf to transfigure a large, sturdy fallen branch into a stretcher, then levitate Remus onto it. Though it still looked a bit flaky with bark around the edges, it served, and once it was levitating at a managable height, the problem of traveling with an injured companion was instantly solved.  
  
Ironically enough it seems I have the best luck of all of you, remarked Remus, watching as the five others divided the packs between them: Eloise had her own duffel bag; Draco the sack of food; Sirius and Snape each had one of Sirius' bags; and Hermione had both hers and Dobby's packs of personal things, as they were both the lightest. The Invisibility Cloak had been rewrapped around the Firebolt, making both of them invisible, and they had been tucked in alongside Remus on the stretcher. Hermione didn't want them causing any possibly harmful confusion among natives; it probably wasn't every day that the inhabitants of Middle-earth saw a flying broom and a bit of fabric that made you vanish.  
  
I've got the easy ride, said the floating professor with a twisted smile.  
  
For now, said Hermione. Once you're healed you get to carry your own weight, you know.  
  
I know very well, said Remus; that's why I'm enjoying this while it lasts. Though you can believe me that breaking a leg is not a good way to get out of having to walk.  
  
And so they set out, five people on foot, one stiffly bandaged and floating along at a fair pace, one traveling invisible through the fabric of the world. Hermione drew out the map and her compass, and in the moment they took their first steps eastward, their fates in the world of Middle-earth were sealed beyond all shadow of a doubt.  
  
----------  
  
Hermione kept a close eye on Snape as they walked through the pleasant spring woods. The hook-nosed professor had said so little since his last argument with Sirius that Hermione was getting worried. He hadn't even been snapping out his customary insults, or making snide remarks about Remus' difficulty. She caught glimpses of his cold, sharp black eyes flickering over the others in the group, as if calculating what sort of move would be to his best interest. Hermione hadn't really expected him to more than a hindrance, but if he tried anything outright against the others -- well, all her qualms about opposing or even hurting teachers had dissipated through the years. Besides, Snape was no longer a teacher here -- he couldn't stop anyone by threatening them with a month's detention, or by taking house points; here, he was the equal of his companions in treatment and usefulness... even expendability. Hermione suspected that that was what was making him so unusually quiet: coping with being forced into such an enormously unpleasant situation, and with his worst personal enemies at that.  
  
Wisely, Remus slept through most of the morning, reserving strength and helping the healing process. Hermione was amazed at his ability to will himself to sleep, amongst all this beauty and splendor. Maybe it was because she'd never really gone hiking before; maybe it was because this was a completely new experience -- but Hermione didn't think this forest was nearly as awful as the books had made them out to be. Beauty, she supposed, was in the eye of the beholder; the mottled green above her, spattered with hints of blue where the sky peeked through, was enough to hold her attention for minutes at a time. She would stare into the branches and only look down when she stumbled on a twig or tripped over a rock, eliciting sharp looks from almost everyone else. The only person who seemed to share her fascination with the forest was Eloise, who tried to spot the elusive wildlife as it scattered through the fallen leaves and scurried across the tree limbs. Hints of gray and reddish-brown were a dead giveaway of squirrels; birds fluttered here and there, though they rarely sang. Hermione was certain that she saw a small green snake slither away at one point, heading for the safer areas in the thicker parts of the wood.  
  
All the while they walked, the sun mounted higher into the sky, shedding a dappled greenish light onto the forest floor. The color it created on the golden leaves was amazing. Hermione reasoned, eventually, that this place must be more pleasant than the place the hobbits had gone through because this was much further out towards the edge of the wood. Frodo had been walking right through the heart of it.  
  
Hermione checked her map and compass almost constantly, keeping them on the right path. They had been walking for about an hour, more or less, and (to her dismay) Hermione's feet were already getting sore. If she tired this easily, there was no way she'd ever make it to Mordor. She prayed desperately that they might be able to buy some horses in Bree.  
  
Hermione glanced at the map once again, but hesitated before she spoke up, unwilling to break the beautiful, whispering quiet. We're near the edge of the woods, she said, her voice sounding particularly loud in the relative silence.  
  
She didn't get much of a reaction. There were nods all around, and Draco muttered something to himself that Hermione couldn't make out. She tried to think as the real Fellowship would have, reasoning out distances and the time it would take to walk it all. The eventual sum was daunting, especially when she was already beginning to wear out. All those months spent in the library had made her smart; but she was anything _but_ athletic. She didn't know if she could take this much longer.  
  
She thought that they should probably walk on for another few hours, at least -- until roughly noon. Then they could stop and eat something, but even then it couldn't be a long stop, nor could they take much food. Then it would be more walking... for the _entire day.  
_  
And the same the next day. And the next day. And the next...  
  
The implication had finally sunk in completely.  
  
Hermione barely stifled a groan.  
  
-----------  
  
Oh, thank God, Hermione muttered as she all but collapsed onto the short, springy grass. The sun had been getting slowly but surely higher and hotter, until the back of Hermione's neck felt like it was burning right off. She had let her hair hang down loose to cover her neck, but it was only making her sweat more profusely. She found herself missing the cover of the trees more and more.  
  
It must have been almost two in the afternoon when they stopped for a meal. If she hadn't had her trademark good sense on her side, Hermione would have gulped down all the water right then and there.  
  
Eloise flopped down next to her with a groan. Why didn't I make my feet tougher instead? she despaired, flexing her withered hand. Or make myself sun-proof, that would've been good...  
  
Still quite a few hours of daylight left, interjected Sirius, swinging his pack onto the grass and sitting down as if he were hardly tired at all, though Hermione could see the darker black stains spreading down the front and back of his faded black robes. In the woods, his hair had dried from that morning's heavy splash of river-water -- but now it was soaked again, this time with sweat. I'd say we've walked about 8 or 9 miles. We might cover just uner 20 today if we keep this pace.  
  
But I _can't_ keep this pace, blurted Hermione, tired, hot, miserable and thus unreasonably horrified by Sirius' practical, unmoved tone of voice.  
  
Sirius blinked. He looked at Hermione in a way he'd only done once before: as if he'd never seen anything quite like her. A look that suggested he thought she was pleasant, but not quite straight on the facts.  
  
So I suppose you've finally discovered, said Snape icily, that books won't drill you in perseverance, Granger.  
  
And I suppose you'll discover my fist drilling your face in at odd angles if I'm forced to hear another syllable out of you, Snape, gritted Sirius, looking steadfastly away from the Potions teacher as if just the sight of his hook-nosed face would start a riot. (Which it probably would.)  
  
Snape swept his robes around himself in a perfect arc and sank to the ground, sitting much more gracefully than even Malfoy could manage.  
  
I was merely suggesting that the girl would have had a better fighting chance at this... journey... if she had dragged herself out of the library once or twice, and, say, infiltrated a few Death Eater meetings. She was obviously in severe need of a regular test of her pain endurance...  
  
You're not getting anyone's sympathy, snapped Sirius.  
  
And you're supposed to be the compassionate one, aren't you, said Draco sourly, his face flushed with anger and overexposure to sunlight. You get all the sympathy votes because of being so horribly mistreated --  
  
Go to Azkaban, Malfoy brat, hissed Sirius, bending all his willpower on not hitting either of them. It's worse than Hell. Go see what childhood memories the dementors could dig out of you -- between your family and your father's business relations there must be no end --  
  
Only Draco's eyes betrayed his otherwise perfect expression of boiling hatred; a flicker of fear passed in the space of a blink, and Hermione nearly missed it.  
  
'Good guys' don't attack enemies' families verbally, said Draco, his voice dripping with malicious warning. Or so I understand.  
  
In case you haven't noticed, and I'm sure it's rare that you notice anyone besides yourself, I'm not a good guy,' snarled Sirius, the razor edge of sarcasm hinting in his voice. Us convicts tend to pick up bad habits. What can I say, we made the wrong lifestyle choices.  
  
My father could teach you a thing or two to improve your sarcasm, Black, said Malfoy, with the same mentioned tone of voice. But I daresay you've got Completely Missing the Point down to a fine art.  
  
If your father's grave was in this universe, I'd spit on it.  
  
My father's grave isn't in any universe. He's not dead.  
  
Proving that the gene pool really needs a good dose of chlorine. The scum has been allowed to grow for too long.  
  
Malfoy actually gave a short bark of laughter at that. His pale eyes glinted mirthlessly at Sirius, and suddenly Hermione found herself wondering uneasily whether Draco carried any sort of razor blade or other weapon... because right now he certainly looked like he was about to produce it...  
  
Good, Black, he said. Very good. More Father's style.  
  
Sirius glared, fuming, and it was obvious that the simmering emotions had just risen to a boil, and were about to break out at any moment.  
  
squeaked Eloise, and cleared her throat. Excuse me.  
  
Uh, er, Sirius -- don't -- said Hermione at exactly the same moment.  
  
What's the noise, said a soft voice from nearby. It was followed by an audible yawn.  
  
Hermione's whole heart went out to Remus Lupin at that moment. Of all the most perfect moments to wake up...  
  
Eloise cried desperately. Good to see you're awake, please stay that way why don't you --  
  
What are you on about? Remus' tousled head lifted itself slightly, but he groaned and let it fall back without much effort.  
  
Family graves and chlorine in the gene pool...  
  
said the professor in an understanding, resigned voice. I see. Severus, no insults. Sirius, no bloodshed. You're not fifteen anymore.  
  
Snape scowled and Sirius muttered something under his breath, and even though Malfoy was still looking murderous it was obvious that the argument had been effectively defused.  
  
They spent the very brief lunch (much too brief for Hermione) in relative silence. Remus had fallen back asleep almost instantly and Hermione couldn't even wake him to eat something. Afterwards they packed back up and continued walking. Hermione swore she could _feel_ the blisters bubbling up on her feet.  
  
The sun was nearing the horizon and the light was getting dim and blurry by the time they spotted the first barrow -- the great tombs that gave this region its name of Barrow-Downs. The barrow itself and the hill around it seemed oddly leeched of color... but that may have only been the quality of light playing tricks on the eye.  
  
I don't think we should camp near any of those, Eloise said nervously.  
  
But being captured and ritualistically killed by wights sounds like so much fun, drawled Draco, who had been given the quick summary of the books that day by Eloise. The newly-brunette girl seemed to tolerate Draco more than Hermione or Sirius. Hermione expected Eloise had something of the same temperament as Professor Lupin: People are often stupid and mean, and they simply have to be lived with; end of argument.' Hermione wished she could feel that way, but sunburn and blistered feet made her more irritable than she had any right to be.  
  
Of course we're not camping by one, Hermione snapped. Eloise gave her a sharp look that had no effect. We keep going. Pass each one by on the east -- that's what Bombadil said to do.  
  
I thought it was the west.  
  
I read the books more recently than you, Hermione snapped, and he _said_ east.  
  
Eloise looked as if Hermione had just insulted her mother, or worse. Maybe you read them _yesterday,_ she said angrily; I don't care. I've read them two dozen times ever since I was old enough to _read_ -- don't tell me you know more than I do!  
  
I do know more than you do.  
  
Eloise held up her withered hand -- in the half-light it looked even more gruesome. She flexed it menacingly. Hermione stepped towards her, unfazed.  
  
Stop it, said Sirius. Even he sounded tired.  
  
Eloise whirled on him, holding up her hand as if to strike. Sirius' eyes widened and he stepped backwards quickly. Snape's eyes flickered between them with a calculating expression; Malfoy was smiling very, very thinly, looking more serpentine than human.  
  
With a fluid, almost unnoticable movement, Draco had gotten behind Eloise and laid a pale hand on her wrist. She allowed her hand to be lowered; but her eyes never left Sirius. Standing together in the foreign twilight, Eloise and Draco looked like some bizarre couple from a twisted fairy tale. Pale, shoulder-length, roughly-cut hair to one side; long chestnut tresses to the other; and Draco hiding Eloise's deformed hand in his own perfect one.  
  
Hermione thought sharply of Ron, and Eloise's love for the gangly boy, and as suddenly as it had come, the anger left her.  
  
she said, softly. We're all tired. Why don't we camp here. We can decide which way to go tomorrow.  
  
Eloise snapped. Her hand whipped around and up towards Hermione's throat; and the smile on her face was more like a grimace. Greed glinted in her eyes, making Hermione's heart skip a beat; her bones chilled, and her mouth went dry as cotton. She stumbled backwards.  
  
Snape, of all people, caught her -- but it wasn't an accident that the hook-nosed teacher had been behind her. He spun Hermione out of Eloise's reach, plunged a hand into Hermione's front pocket, and brought out the cloth-wrapped ring.  
  
The effect was instantaneous. All the blood rushed from Eloise's face and she froze with her hand stretched out in midair. Draco, who had tried to restrain Eloise's attack, was watching Snape's hand surreptitiously. Sirius scowled, tensing for a fight if Snape turned out to be trying to steal the ring.  
  
But Hermione shouted, Give it back!  
  
Her own voice startled her; she sounded desperate, hurt, as if Snape had taken a bit of herself and held it out of her reach. Snape's cold black eyes turned to her, and there was an almost triumphant gleam in them.  
  
Silence followed. Hermione realized Snape's purpose and her own reaction with dawning horror; she forced herself to stop reaching out for the ring, and twined her hands together tightly, as if afraid they might act of their own to regain the thing they desired to hold once again. Hermione's shout had even broken the ring's hold on Eloise, and the brunette jerked her hand back to her side, pushing away from Draco and looking on the verge of tears.  
  
Hermione rasped after a moment, her voice jagged with fear. I didn't... I don't want it. Keep it. I... I don't care about it.  
  
Of course you do, said Snape oily. You care about it too much. He uncurled long fingers elegantly, holding the small cloth package out to Hermione. That's why it's yours.  
  
Hesitantly, with trembling fingers, Hermione took the ring and slipped it back into her pocket.  
  
I'm sorry, Eloise, she said momentarily. Her eyes were turned towards Eloise, but they didn't see anything at all. We'll go west, if you say so.  
  
Let's just camp here, Eloise quavered. We can look it up in the books in the morning.  
  
Hermione nodded, submissively, and nothing more was said.  
----------------


	12. Speak Elvish, Alvarado

A/N: Sorry the last chapter was so short. There's no sense as to where I end chapters. I have no structure that I'm following. This is a complete mish-mash of weird ideas and emotions and character torture.  
  
Not much to say here except that I'm extremely sorry this chapter took so long. First Dobby didn't want to cooperate with me, and then it was Snape... and now, of course, school -- being the evil thing that it is -- is leeching away all my writing time. Anyway, there's some actual action this time! Highly unusual for me. Mwuahaha...  
  
Read on,  
-Raven  
  
-------  
Chapter Twelve: Speak Elvish, Alvarado  
-------  
  
***  
Hermione was dreaming.  
  
Or at least, she thought she was dreaming... but it seemed so real... she could almost feel the grass, almost touch the sky. She lifted her head and looked around with the slowness and inexplicability of the half-conscious.  
  
She took a step forward, and her feet didn't touch ground; she kept moving, and she thought she was moving towards something, but she couldn't see what it was -- she could only see that it was dark, and shadowed, and feared.  
  
_She didn't want to go there.  
_  
A lance of fear skewered through her gut and she tried to turn; but she couldn't move at all anymore, and all she could hear were a clock and a heartbeat, synchronized, merciless, logical -- the rhythm was harsh. She opened her mouth to cry out,  
  
_tick tock thump-thump tick tock thump-thump  
_  
but no sound came, and with her lips parted in a silent scream she --  
  
_blood flows hands move in circles  
_  
***  
  
She woke up.  
  
Someone's voice... familiar. A girl?  
  
She couldn't feel her right arm. After a moment of disorientation she realized that this was because a crumpled, deformed hand was cutting off her circulation. She mumbled a protest, opening her eyes.  
  
the voice cried again. Wake up!  
  
she muttered, and groaned. Her throat was terribly dry...  
  
Thank God! said Eloise, letting Hermione's arm go. The freed blood scorched back through Hermione's veins, making her arm sore and tingly.  
  
What? Is something wrong? said Hermione, levering herself upright and hissing between her teeth at the pain when she put weight on her sore arm.  
  
You are, Eloise raced. You were talking --  
  
cut in Draco's voice. He was sitting on Hermione's other side, his gray eyes as impenetrable as ever.  
  
In your sleep, Eloise went on.  
  
What'd I say? said Hermione, struggling to remember the last scraps of a dream she'd been having. They slipped further away the harder she thought about them, though, and in seconds she could remember nothing of it at all.  
  
I don't know, said Eloise. You weren't speaking English.  
  
What, then? said Hermione, bewildered. French? What?  
  
I think, said Sirius' grave voice; Hermione spun her head and saw that he, Snape and even Remus were also awake. They were all watching her.  
  
I think, Sirius repeated, that it was the Black Speech.  
  
-----------  
  
But I don't know a word of the Black Speech, Hermione complained as they trudged onward that day. The sun was midway up the sky, and as they had finally decided to pass the barrows by on the west, they had finally begun making good progress. They kept a close eye out for the distant gray speck of a tomb, and veered westward as needed; the enchanted map of Middle-earth proclaimed that they were well on the way to Bree, and if all went well, they should be able to reach the town by the next morning. Sooner, if they could keep up a fast pace... but Hermione saw that not only herself, but Eloise and Draco as well, were beginning to falter in their steps, wearying.  
  
After we reach Bree there'll be no such rush, Hermione comforted herself. We'll get properly supplied and go on towards Mordor at our own pace. And that'll be that.  
  
That's a dozen times you've said so, said Eloise, but I know a little of the languages of Middle-earth, and that was the Black Speech if I've ever heard it.  
  
You _haven't_ ever heard it, said Hermione. Besides inside your own head.  
  
You know what I mean.  
  
Hermione sighed. I suppose. She groaned and looked at the sun. Isn't it time for lunch yet? she said, trying not to put too much of a whine into her voice.  
  
Try to bear on for another hour, said Sirius.  
  
Easy for you to say, grumbled Draco; but on they went.  
  
Finally they came to a halt, and sat for a skimpy meal of bread, rather stale bacon and a drink of water each. Eloise woke Remus, and he joined them; by his voice alone he seemed to be doing much better.  
  
We _should_ be traveling at night, Snape observed coldly. Hermione saw that, though his voice was icy, the professor was sweating profusely under the bare, unforgiving sun.  
  
Hermione conceded. We can change our schedule once we leave Bree, I guess.  
  
The heat was draining, and no one felt much like talking. As a matter of fact, all they wanted to do (or at least, all Hermione wanted to -- she surreptitiously guessed that the same was probably true for the others) was cover up with a blanket for shade and sleep for the rest of the day. Thankfully, the clouds were beginning to build up into thick, fluffy, white masses, and instead of scudding quickly across the sky, they were inching slowly along. It meant more cover over the sun, for which Hermione was grateful.  
  
It didn't occur to her that the clouds were getting darker on the bottoms, weighted down with moisture; or that the humidity was getting steadily higher...  
  
Eloise said, when they had probably sat there longer than they should have.  
  
said Sirius, blinking slowly, as if it was hard to keep his eyes open.  
  
Hermione said you read tarot.  
  
It seemed to be a yes. Remus groaned, rolled his eyes and pretended not to know Sirius existed.  
  
Eloise grinned slightly. Do a reading, she said, half-teasingly.  
  
Sirius shook his head and pinched his arm to keep himself awake. No, I think we should probably be getting on...  
  
Eloise begged, tugging his sleeve to make him sit back down. Oh come on, it won't take _that_ long...  
  
Sirius gave in, shrugging; it wasn't that much of an argument. He found his deck and book of meanings in one of his bags and shuffled the cards quickly. This can't take long, he warned. I'm going to do a spread I invented. I have to be reading for someone in particular. Volunteers?  
  
I volunteer Professor Lupin, said Eloise, grinning wickedly; she had already heard the story of yesterday morning from Hermione, and thought it was extremely funny.  
  
exclaimed Remus. You're going to be working for Filch in detention for the rest of your miserable life!  
  
Sirius allowed himself a small grin that seemed to show far too many teeth.  
  
You realize you just sealed your fate, said Hermione with a sigh.  
  
Damn you, Remus snapped under his breath. Hermione snickered behind her hand.  
  
Right then, said Sirius, shuffling menacingly. He cut the deck quickly and laid down a single card about a foot away from himself. It depicted a man, tired yet calm and ultimately in control, leaning against a large blue dragon; he wore plain, worked-in clothes, but a crown circled his head and a jeweled sword lay at rest in his hand. The man and dragon stood in a field of flowers, with the overhanging branches of unseen trees brushing the dragon's scales. In the foreground two small children played with even smaller draclings. The bottom of the card read _4 - The Emperor.'  
_  
The spread has 8 cards, said Sirius. This one represents the person I'm reading for.  
  
Didn't know Professor Lupin was an emperor, said Eloise, grinning.  
  
Sirius flipped open the book of meanings, read momentarily, and summarized, A practical, sensible person, who has a great deal of power but never abuses it. Divinatory Meaning -- Your life will be smoother if you cultivate leadership and stability in order to progress. You may be influenced by a charismatic personality.' I don't know anyone more charismatic than Dumbledore, and if employing you doesn't count as influencing your life then I'll eat my hat.  
  
Remus stolidly continued pretending he was deaf.  
  
Sirius laid out three more cards, in a row underneath the first one. Physical and emotional, said Sirius, pointing at the right and middle cards respectively. The card on the right, the physical' card, was the Ten of Swords -- it showed a woman, greatly outnumbered and defeated by an unknown enemy, collapsed over a dying dragon that lay, half-conscious, in a puddle of its own blood. Nine blades pointed at her from the viewer's perspective; her own sword lay across her lap, bloody and steel-scarred. Only on the horizon behind her was there any hope to be seen -- the faint golden glow of sunrise edged over unstained green hills.  
  
Well, that one's pretty obvious, muttered Sirius, slightly uncomfortable.  
  
The middle card was the Three of Swords, and on it three flame-red dragons battled between themselves, oblivious to the wildfire raging in the forest below them -- a fire that they themselves had caused, more than likely. The sheer, unadulterated anger was clearly evident.  
  
Well, with you three, it's inevitable, said Hermione, looking pointedly at Snape and Sirius. The unspoken third person had to have been Remus.  
  
It probably means the ring's influence, Eloise pointed out. Hermione shrugged.  
  
The third card, on the left, was the Three of Wands. Two dragons, blue and orange, flew over a beach; a wand was stuck in the sand, just above the high tide. The two dragons were also holding wands, and they appeared to form a triangle of power.  
  
This card shows the actions being taken in relation to the first three cards, said Sirius. Three of Wands means two opposing forces working in their own ways towards one purpose. It also means the four elements, but I don't see how that...  
  
You and Snape, said Eloise, interrupting. You both tried healing Professor Lupin in your own ways.  
  
Sirius blinked. Who's supposed to be doing this reading, anyway?  
  
she muttered.  
  
No, you're probably right. He shook his head and laid out the final four cards -- three went directly under the others, in a third row, but the fourth was laid sideways on top of the bottom left card.  
  
Past, present and future, he said. The past was the Seven of Wands. It means strength of will, perseverance, said Sirius.  
  
The bridge-spell depended on both, said Hermione.  
  
Sirius nodded. I was thinking more along the lines of this being Remus' reading... his life, I mean, your life, Reme... perseverence is... necessary. He shifted uncomfortably. Well. The, er, the present is the Six of Swords, which means a long journey -- many companions setting out against great odds and all whatnot. That doesn't even need any interpretation.  
  
Why are there two cards for the future? asked Hermione.  
  
Because the future can't be told for certain, said Sirius. There's never a set outcome for any circumstance. There could be thousands of ways the future will turn out -- I allow for two of them to show in a reading.  
  
Six of Wands, said Eloise, shifting the top card so she could see the title of the bottom one; and The Tower. Oh, that one doesn't look pleasant. She tilted her head to see the Tower card better. Her mouth twitched.   
  
The Tower showed two enormous dragons encircling a stone tower under a blackened stormy sky; they bellowed fire and threw their weight against the rock, forcing it down, crushing it to broken shards.  
  
That can't be good,said Hermione. She touched the card with a forefinger, but jerked back instantly; her finger had gone icy cold at the touch, and the feeling was spreading through her whole hand, dissipating as it went.  
  
Sirius looked grave, and even Eloise wasn't laughing now. The Six of Wands is the better result, said Sirius quietly. It means success after hard work. And the Tower... the Tower is devastation. Maybe not complete destruction -- but enough damage done that there would be no hope of repair.  
  
But they're completely contradictory, said Draco.  
  
The future usually is, said Sirius, packing up the cards and book. His abruptness seemed to forbid any further discussion of the topic. We've delayed longer than we should have. We need to get moving.  
  
--------------  
  
And move they did. To Hermione it seemed that the day would never end. Almost her entire conscious mind was filled with the numb pain in her feet, and the burning ache -- less immediate but infinitely more frustrating and painful -- that was growing in her thighs. Stiffness began to settle in even when she was moving; she walked as fast as she could, afraid that if she stopped she wouldn't be able to move again. She said nothing of her discomfort to anyone, mainly because she suspected they were experiencing the same thing and didn't need her whining to rub it in.  
  
The sky was not so clear as it had been yesterday, or even that morning -- the pale gray clouds had been thickening and darkening even more as they talked, muting the sun. It was still warm, but the short grass didn't hold heat for long, especially not when the clouds began providing adequate shade. When there wasn't much heat coming down from the sky, nor much radiating back from the ground, the temperature became infinitely more bearable.  
  
The air was muggy, humid, tinted with the scent of oncoming rain. Hermione hoped profusely that the storm system would leave them alone at least until they got on a proper road. But her wishes were all in vain, as it turned out.  
  
They felt the first spatter of light rain on their faces around what Hermione supposed to be 3 o'clock. The clouds were a heavier, steely gray now; they sunk low in the atmosphere, weighed down by the rain they carried. Sirius swore under his breath when he felt the first drops.  
  
It's getting misty, Eloise noted as she trudged on. Hermione peered into the dimming light and saw what she meant: in the near distance the edges of the horizon blurred and faded, smudged by fog.  
  
This isn't going to be fun, muttered Draco, pulling the straps of his bag closer around himself, as if to ward off the oncoming rain and fog. His sharp gray eyes looked not so much afraid as they were wary. Hermione watched him for almost a full minute, and he never blinked once.  
  
Eloise was wearing a half-scowl of deep concentration. Her lips moved silently, as if she were reciting something to hersef, or trying to call something up from the far recesses of her memory.  
  
Heavy fog, she muttered under her breath. I thought they ran into fog when they sat by a tomb. And then they passed it.... they passed it on the wrong side, didn't they? She lifted her eyes to the others and her scowl transformed into an expression of concern. She stopped in her tracks, forcing everyone else to slow down and turn to look at her.  
  
Who remembers the last barrow we passed? she asked urgently.  
  
Sirius, Hermione and Draco exchanged glances; but it was Snape who answered. His perpetual scowl had been dampened over the past day, so that now his mouth was never more than a thin, pale line. We haven't passed one recently, he said matter-of-factly.  
  
We haven't _seen_ one recently, Eloise amended. Her hazel eyes were clouded with doubt. But these little hills are just high enough to hide one from sight...  
  
Hermione twigged on at last. We passed one on the east, she said disbelievingly. Without even noticing.  
  
Eloise looked downright nervous now. The storm... it's a -- symptom, or something. Look, I would really _not_ like to get caught by barrow-wights. Can't we go back, or --?  
  
Eloise, we _can't_ go back, exclaimed Sirius. This is a serious matter, not a hiking vacation.  
  
I know, she moaned. She looked forward into the colorless fog, stifled a shudder, and said, so quietly that Hermione almost missed it, I can't stand small spaces. Closed in. I just can't.  
  
And _now's_ just the perfect time to let on that you're claustrophobic, isn't it, Midgen? hissed Draco sarcastically.  
  
Hermione sighed. At least we'll all be locked in a tomb together, Eloise. A thought struck her, and she glanced up at the clouds. Maybe Dobby can ward off any wights that come after us. Dobby?  
  
There wasn't an answer. Hermione's heart skipped a beat, but she hid it behind a closed expression; it hadn't occured to any of them to check for their invisible companion since the day they had set out. What if he had gotten lost, or abandoned them, or... well, no one really knew what happened to a person when they didn't have a physical body to hold them to this plane, to force them to obey the laws of nature. He might have dissipated, or faded into nothing.  
  
Hermione called again, forcing her voice not to waver.  
  
Sirius realized what was going on almost as quickly as Hermione. His eyes widened fractionally; he looked around futilely, shouting at the top of his lungs. No luck; there was no sound but that of the wind, which was starting to pick up, bringing fresh, fat drops of water.  
  
Remus got a liberal spattering of rain in the face that finally woke him up. He squinted around at the others, at the sky, at the clouds lowering menacingly -- and promptly cursed. His floating makeshift stretcher was quite steady in the wind -- house-elves' magic couldn't be swayed very easily.  
  
Hermione furiously blinked away one raindrop that landed on her eyelash. She turned away from the full brunt of the wind, dismayed at the loss of Dobby but more worried, at the moment, about the storm bearing down on them.   
  
We can't afford to wait it out! Sirius shouted. We just don't have enough options!  
  
Hermione looked around for shelter, any shelter at all -- but the low rolling hills, shrouded in mist, provided no possibilities. Check the map! she called. How far are we to the road?  
  
Sirius struggled out of his already-damp pack and pulled out the map, trying carefully to sheild the fragile paper from the gusting wind. He peered at it in the gloom and cursed Dobby's absence -- at least the house-elf could have provided some light.  
  
Maybe -- a couple of miles, he said, uncertainly. Three or four. But it's hard to see!  
  
But we're close! Eloise shouted enthusiastically.  
  
Be realistic, Snape cut in. Four miles in this would take hours, at the very least!  
  
If we get lost it'll be worse than waiting, Draco added loudly.  
  
We have to try! Hermione could swear she was all but screaming -- but her voice sounded faint even to her own ears. There's no shelter here! It's pointless to stay! But she had made the mistake of turning slightly to meet everyone's eyes, which put her back in the path of the wind; her words were carried away into the gloom, and she got a faceful of sharp, slashing rain. She jerked her robes all the way over her head and huddled her face away from the rain.  
  
It didn't take any other convincing. They had the perfect map -- no matter how lost they thought they were, they'd always be able to see where they'd wound up, so as long as they were heading relatively in the right direction, it didn't matter if they strayed a little bit. Sirius peered at the map for another minute, then stuck out one cold finger to the south and slightly east. They wrapped up as tightly as they could in their robes -- Remus fished out the light blanket he'd been using for shade and pulled it completely over his head, though it was thoroughly soaked pretty fast anyway.  
  
And they walked.  
  
It seemed, at least to Hermione, that they weren't moving at all -- or at least, not enough to matter. The fog was leeching all the color from the world; the wind carried away sound and feeling; the rain washed away any sense of smell, and everything bent or shrivled under the weight of it. The only thing left was a sense of nothingness -- that whatever great painter had created this beautiful place had just spilled bleach on it, and all the grandiose wonder of it was being erased even as they trudged along.  
  
Hermione kept her eyes on the ground, trying to see just a few more feet in front of herself -- although even that far was impossible in the fog. After a while she began to think she might be veering to the east somewhat, so she looked up to ask Sirius to point the right direction again.  
  
She couldn't see anyone else. _Well, that could be expected,_ she thought._ The fog's too thick to see him._  
  
she called at the top of her lungs. Are we going the right way?  
  
No answer.  
  
Her heart plummeted. _Sirius! Eloise!_  
  
Nothing... she'd lost them. How could she have been so _stupid? Should have kept an eye on them -- should have known the fog would separate us, just like the hobbits in the books --_  
  
came a faint shout.  
  
Hermione staggered, partly from relief, but mostly from the force of the wind. _Who is it? I've lost the others!  
  
Keep shouting!_  
_  
But who are you -- we need Sirius, he's got the map --_  
  
Suddenly, barely three feet away from her, a figure about her height materialized in the fog. Still, even so close, their features were so blurred that she couldn't tell who it was.  
  
You sure this place isn't magic, like Hogwarts? asked the figure. This fog's got a mind of its own -- seems like a spell to me --  
_  
_  
  
  
  
Hermione shook her head. At least he wasn't Snape, and a pair was better than one wandering alone, but still... she really didn't want to deal with Malfoy right now. Yeah, it's a spell. I never said Middle-earth _wasn't_ magic. It's just a different kind of magic... and there's a lot more magic here than there is at Hogwarts. At least, there was when the elves were here. I don't know how it'll be now they're all gone...  
  
Stop rambling, Granger. Are you even going the right way?  
  
What did I say before! Of course I'm not! Or I might have been, but I got turned around looking for you...  
  
Maybe we should just wait here, then. Call for Black and Professor Snape.  
  
And get caught by barrow-wights?  
  
Well, what are supposed to do, keep walking at random until we run into a few? Or starve to death, that'd be more like it.  
  
Hermione resisted the urge to scream. What was so very annoying was the fact that Draco was absolutely right. I don't expect we'll get help either way, not soon enough, anyway. Keep walking or stay here -- my vote's for keeping on. Maybe we'll hit the road.  
  
Draco hmphed. If we end up in a ditch somewhere, or back in the woods where we started, don't blame me.  
  
Hermione was taken aback. He wasn't arguing with her nearly hard enough; it wasn't like him. You don't --  
  
Oh shut up and start walking, Granger. We'll never get anywhere if you keep being so thick.  
  
Excuse me -- !  
  
Draco pushed her in the small of the back, forcing her forward a few steps. For a horrible moment she lost Draco's faint outline in the fog -- she shrieked, half startled, half afraid.  
  
he said, exasperated. Fine. Much as I hate you, we've got to be linked, if you're going to be hysterical about it... She felt a cold, damp hand poke her on the shoulder. Give me your hand.  
  
She reached up and took Draco's hand off her shoulder. She was too scared to be disgusted by the fact that she was holding hands with Draco Malfoy -- all she cared about was that there was another human being with her, who wouldn't let her go at any cost.  
  
she gasped wretchedly.  
  
Hermione was glad she couldn't see Draco's face as he replied, Don't get all mushy on me, Granger. It's a necessary evil.  
  
_Well, I couldn't have expected anything even vaguely kind-hearted,_ she thought. _Of course I wasn't expecting anything of the sort._ And after a minute, she almost believed herself.  
  
--------  
  
They walked, or rather struggled and sloshed, for almost an hour and a half before they were forced to give up. Finding nothing resembling shelter, they had to simply sit down in the middle of the expanse of grass they'd just spent ages slogging across -- if they hadn't already been thoroughly soaked, they would have been when they sat, as there was at least an inch of standing water everywhere. The wind seemed to have died a little bit, but not enough to make a difference. Draco and Hermione, swallowing their pride, sat huddled next to each other, wrapping both their cloaks around themselves, covering their heads and all. Draco tried to catch some rainwater in his water flask, but as the rain was almost horizontal, he didn't have much luck.  
  
I wish Sirius was here, Hermione moaned. I need to see the _map..._  
  
You should've had the elf make a few more copies.  
  
Shut up, Malfoy, she grumbled half-heartedly. There was a pause, and then... I wonder if there really are any barrow-wights left. We've been out a long time, with no sign of them...  
  
Draco shrugged; she could feel it against her back. The movement left her shoulder blades tingling, and she shifted uncomfortably. She couldn't stop thinking about his head, resting against the back of her own. She could just lean her head forward a little, and then crack it back against his really hard... he'd be unconscious; she could do as she needed with him, and... and she'd be left alone with the...  
  
No, no, _no,_ stop it, what the _hell_ was she thinking? The bloody ring, it just wouldn't _stop,_ would it? She didn't _want_ to hurt anyone. She _didn't...  
  
But...  
_  
_Just in case.  
  
_  
  
He hmm'ed in acknowledgement. Move your head to one side. Please. On my shoulder or something.  
  
What is this, Granger? Have you been hiding some mad passion from me for years, or something? Because I'm really not interest--  
  
she said, and the tone of her voice shut him up. If you don't, the ring _will_ make me knock you out and abandon you here. Possibly even kill you. I can feel it... working on me. Her voice was getting even more tense as she spoke. I am... I am resisting it, here. Now, if you _want_ that to happen... but if you don't, then please move your target -- I mean, head.  
  
Draco said, There was a short pause. Then Hermione could feel him shifting around until he was sitting with his side to her back, a position from which he'd be able to see if she was up to something. Hesistantly, he put his arms around her waist...  
  
_What an odd feeling,_ Hermione thought, momentarily giddy.  
  
I'm going to just... hold you still, okay? Don't mind me, I'm just... taking extra precautions.  
  
she said, slightly disappointed. The human straightjacket.  
  
Pretty much, said Draco thoughtlessly, resting his chin on her shoulder, which was the only place available. He was holding Hermione's hands out of harm's way, now. She couldn't have moved if she'd wanted to.  
  
They sat in silence for ages, Draco protecting Hermione from herself, from the terrible urges planted in her head by the ring that was currently stuffed deep in her pocket. Their cloaks were soaked, so heavy now that even the wind couldn't carry them away easily -- the edges flapped where they weren't held down by the packs or where Draco was sitting on them. Small gusts of cold wind made their way through the gaps, freezing anything that was damp -- which was everything. The cloaks served no heating purpose any longer, and they only kept out a fraction of the wind... but neither Draco nor Hermione was willing to try and move them.  
  
Was that... but no, not now, it seemed too late for them -- the wind's howls were becoming more and more alien, less natural. Hermione could swear she heard voices --  
  
she breathed, but the sounds oustside were so loud now that he couldn't hear her. she said, more loudly -- pleading.  
  
he replied unsteadily. Her last name didn't sound like a curse this time when he said it.  
  
Can you hear voices?  
  
He almost said something waspish about that, but he refrained -- the same fear she felt was gnawing at him as well, though he'd die rather than admit it. Sounds like the wights have found us.  
  
She swallowed dryly, and said, almost in tears, I don't want to see them.  
  
He wasn't sure how to reply to that. Of course she didn't -- he didn't either. His first reaction was to think, _What a stupid thing to say...._ but after a moment, he started to understand how she felt -- and it was an extraordinarily odd feeling. No, she knew they would come, and she wanted to be back home at Hogwarts as much as he did -- but if she had been paying attention to her surroundings she might have realized that she'd passed a tomb on the wrong side, or even have been able to avoid it before it happened. The guilt was overwhelming, and she didn't want to see what she'd brought down on all of her friends...  
  
Draco stopped himself. How did he know all this? He'd never been able to understand anyone's mind like this before. Or was he only thinking of his own mind -- _he_ might have seen the fatal mistake, _he_ might have been able to avoid it -- even now, he might be able to drive off the wights...  
  
_How? You haven't got a wand, you bloody idiot, you can't just do a Patronus and magic them all away. There is no more magic. Without magic, the world is left as nothing but a blank and empty slate, dull and eternal....  
_  
But there _was_ something magical left -- there was the ring. The ring could work. He could just slip it on -- such a little thing -- and the wights would bow before him, and he could send for the ghosts and the traitors, the Death Eaters of Middle-earth; and he would be a ruler over them so far greater than Voldemort that even Lucius Malfoy could be proud of his son -- and then, Draco thought excitedly, I might even have the strength to kill that bastard father -- and when that was done, he'd have more power than _anyone --  
_  
Hermione shrieked, snatching his hand away from her neck, where it was searching for a chain that wasn't there. She was stronger than he'd expected. What are you doing? This is not the -- the time -- stop it! Malfoy! Urgh! Geroff!  
  
She had seized both his wandering hands now, putting a stop to his unwanted explorations of her body.  
  
Just give it to me, Granger, and this won't get ugly, he hissed.  
  
Ew, Malfoy -- you pervert!  
  
He jerked against her violently, trying to get his hands free. Give it to us, it's precious, it drives off wights, we won't have to _hide --_  
  
Cold realization hit Hermione -- Draco wasn't perverted (well, he might be anyway); he wanted the... the precious...  
  
Leave it alone! she hissed, cutting off all the circulation to his hands as she gripped his wrists. Outside their tiny protection of cloaks, the shreiks were becoming more excited, more hysterical. Hermione thought she heard the screech of steel against steel -- were they coming with swords; could ghosts even hold swords? --  
  
We wants it! Draco shouted, and for a second he got one wrist free -- but Hermione had him by then, it was too late: she twisted around at an entirely unnatural angle, bent her head forward, and lashed backwards with all her might. The back of her head hit the side of Draco's; he slumped, reeling from the blow. Fumbling quickly, she managed to get his arms around her waist again -- only this time she held his hands as tightly as she could, not caring about the bruises that would show up later or the loss of circulation -- as long as he was bound, and his feet couldn't get any traction, she was safe until the wights came; the wights would solve everything for her, they were right outside now, clamoring to get in, fighting --  
  
Fighting against what? That was steel against steel, but it sounded like a swordfight -- like -- _opponents_ fighting. Who was out there, pitted against Merlin-knew how many barrow-wights? And why?  
  
Hermione didn't dare tear off the soaking cloaks to look. Bowing her head and holding Draco's arms in a death grip, she could only wait for the winner of the hidden battle to reveal themselves...  
-----  
  
A/N: Next chpt. we get to meet some new people! Take a guess -- which LotR character(s) is fighting the barrow-wights? *deep, melodramatic voice* Will they defeat the evil creatures of the dark and save Draco and Hermione from utter destruction? Or, if they do, will Draco just whip out the ring and blast everything into oblivion anyway? Next time, in... RAVEN'S SLEEP-DEPRIVED BRAIN. *duh duh DUHN...*  
I'm shutting up now.  
Expect the unexpected when it comes to my erratic updating schedule -- I have absolutely no idea when this will update, so just keep checking.  
-Raven


	13. Elevenses, Anyone?

**A FEW REPLIES** (feel free to skip these if you didn't review the last chapter)  
  
Pyra: I meant Poe as in Edgar Allen -- you know, crazy, depressed guy with weird poetry and gross stories. Quoth the Raven, nevermore. Etc, etc. I love Poe's writings, and I always wished I could write poetry that good. :) As for meeting the Fellowship -- carry on reading!  
  
Lunoria Moonwatcher: Thank you! (Yes, I love making my char's insult each other -- I may have overdosed in this chpt, actually.) Updates are soooo hard for me. I've got 2 other huge stories I'm always working on, plus school and other annoying necessities. I write every chance I get, but I'm a slow writer, because I'm always researching my material and trying to find the perfect word. I like being meticulous, and it's hard to rush my process. I'm afraid it makes for horrible, erratic updates, though. Sorry about that, but I can't change it!  
  
Luthien Tinuviel: Looking forward to more of Mirror, Mirror! I love a good crossover. Probably why I write so many. Dratted fictions, never give me a moment's peace. School is evil and must die, or must at least be scheduled differently so that I can actually sleep to a decent hour before I have to get up! Isn't tarot fun? I don't know if Sirius' deck will make many (or any) more appearances, I'll just have to see how it turns out.  
  
Pass the Porn Tea: Thank you hugely! It's so cool that people actually like this story, I had never expected it. I'll be sure to keep up with the update e-mails, too.  
  
Europa: *Bzzz!* Wrong on two counts. :p You'll see who it is here in a bit! I had far too much fun for my own good writing for them, so I hope you like them.  
  
Haelinial: You got your wish! But then again, it may not be for long. :( I really can't apologize enough for how long it takes me to update, but this freakin' story is so hard to write! Don't worry, though, it's also a great deal of fun and I won't give it up anytime soon. Thank you for the support!  
  
Thorn Took: Love the name! :) Pippin's so cute. (But SAM RULES!!! Ahem. *innocent whistling*) Thank you, glad you like it!  
  
Lebethron: Thank you very much! I try very hard to keep all my char's in check. Dialogue is sooo fun to write. I've also about worn out my map of Middle-earth, trying to keep the HP char's road sorted out. I have such a horrible time with maps and directions, and Tolkien was amazing with them... makes it hard to keep up. I'm glad my work is paying off. Good to know that people really notice it when you try hard!  
  
Angel: *guilty blink* Cho's above Harry? .... I do believe that that is what we might call a stupid plot hole on my part. I hadn't even noticed. You are absolutely right, though. Thanks for pointing it out to me! Dratted fictions, they won't stay one age, will they? :)  
  
Saerry Snape: Ahh. Insomnia. Me knows this phenomenon. Me is currently suffering from it. (....me talk pretty someday....) *eyes roll up, falls over unconscious* (Kyriel: Okay, take her away, boys. She's drooling.) *wakes up* I am not! (*Sirius, James, and Remus roll their eyes and start dragging Raven off the stage*) What stage? You people have been building things in my head again! (Farrah: All the world's a stage, you know, so don't argue.) Grr. I hate villains who quote Shakespeare. (Kyriel: And I hate authors who quote Farscape!) Oh, shut up!  
  
------------  
A/N: Enter the roaming hobbits. That's all I'm gonna say.  
Further up and further in,  
-Raven  
  
----------  
Chapter Thirteen: Elevenses, Anyone?  
----------  
  
_Lord of the Rings _is_ a mythology, it _is_ a fairy tale, it's an adventure story; it never happened... except somewhere in our hearts. And yet, there was Hobbiton, in three dimensions, with smoke coming out of the holes where they live underground... and I believed.  
_  
– Sir Ian McKellen on the film version of The Fellowship of the Ring'  
  
---------  
They were tearing at the damp cloaks, the only thin cover Hermione and Draco had; and Hermione screamed and screamed at them to leave her be; but she couldn't hold Draco and the cloaks at the same time -- everything was all such a blur, and nothing made any sense anymore...  
  
Light -- real sunlight; muted, but clear enough -- reached Hermione's closed eyes, burning against the backs of her eyelids. Some other voice was trying to speak over her yells, but she couldn't hear it, and she couldn't stop, not now...  
  
Look out!  
  
Get her arms --  
  
Hermione! Snap out of it!  
  
The voices sounded distantly familiar, but she was so disoriented that she couldn't even place a face or a name with them. Exhaustion was beginning to take its toll; her muscles burned and ached, and her attempts at fending off the intruders were becoming weaker.  
  
Steady now! cried a fourth voice, a new voice -- again it was familiar, and yet at the same time Hermione could swear she'd never heard it before. Like maybe she'd heard an echo of it, or a bad imitation... but the voice was still unmistakable, and unsettling in its strangeness.  
  
She felt her wrists snatched out of the air, and she was dragged forward, full onto the damp grass under the gray sky. The sunlight was dimming again; she must have only seen a brief flash through the breaking clouds. She was aware that she was half sobbing and half dry retching with fear, but her churning gut refused to calm down... _what about Draco, the ring, where are the wights, I swear they were here, did I black out? who -- ?...  
_  
A pair of small, strong hands were helping her sit up, but she still could not bring herself to open her eyes. Someone patted her back tentatively. All the danger's gone, lass, said the same familiarly-strange voice. All's well now, just you calm down a bit... we'll get you on to Bree safe enough... those wights are tricky old spirits, aren't they?  
  
The voice had a steady calming effect on her nerves, and the familiarity of it was rousing her curiosity. She had stopped gagging, and could almost open her eyes...  
  
Small hands helping her up; steel on steel clashing in the storm; a voice... a voice so familiar, like she'd heard it somewhere before, but not through her ears... like... like a voice she had _thought_ before, but had never _heard_...  
  
Oh. _Oh... _good gods above, she _knew_ who it was -- and yet it was so unbelievable, even after seeing the wights and the land and _knowing_ that this adventure was true and not merely a bizarre dream... still, despite it all, the fact that they were _real,_ and one was patting her on the back even as realization was dawning...  
  
Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and looked around at her rescuers.  
  
Yes, of course, the good, calming sight of Professor Snape (and who would ever have thought that _he_ would be a good person to see glaring halfheartedly down at you...). Draco, limp on the ground, was being silently examined by Sirius. _Those_ two, Hermione knew. Them she could accept without question...  
  
Now... what she _was_ finding rather difficult to accept was the red-headed hobbit sitting next to her, and the other, slightly older and more sandy-haired, leaning on his short sword next to Snape. The fact that the redheaded one was dressed in black and silver armor with Gondor's emblem of a white tree, while the blond one was wearing the green-and-white horse-motif livery of Rohan, proved a thought that until now Hermione had hardly dared to entertain --  
  
She knew these hobbits, all right, and she _had_ heard their voices before -- in her head, as she read their dialogue silently to herself all those days ago in the Hogwarts library.  
  
Meriadoc Brandybuck, esquire of Rohan... and Peregrin Took, a knight of the realm of Gondor.  
  
Merry and Pippin? Hermione choked, dumbfounded. They were the first coherent words she had uttered since the wights had come. Sirius glanced up from Draco's prone body.  
  
he said quietly, standing up and moving to kneel by Pippin next to her. What happened?  
  
She shook her head, still staring mutely at Merry, who had sheathed his sword and was now mopping his forehead with a handkerchief. Sirius glanced at where she was staring, and grinned slightly; but as much as he'd like to entertain her with the tale of how they'd met up, he really needed to know what had happened in the storm. He drew Hermione's attention back to himself and repeated the question.  
  
Hermione finally managed. We got. Er. Separated... in the fog, and... and I found Draco, and we walked for a bit... it was my fault, I mean, I thought we might hit the road to Bree... She turned her eyes to the ground miserably.  
  
It was no one's fault, Sirius chided. But what happened when you stopped here?  
  
She didn't look up in time to see his glance stray worriedly to Draco; rather, she took a deep breath and told him all she could about the horrible make-shift shelter, and the ring's disruptions, and the ensuing fight. She couldn't manage to convey the feeling of fear and helplessness; but even if she could have, she wouldn't have wanted to. Still, her mentions of the Ring drew Merry and Pippin's sharp and immediate attention, and they listened hard to everything Hermione said.  
  
When Hermione was done, Sirius took a resolute breath and said, Come here. Gently he helped her stand up, supporting her weight as much as she needed him to. Then he turned her towards Draco and pointed vaguely at the pale boy's face.  
  
Hermione could say nothing. Draco looked a complete mess -- his robes were torn in places (though her own were much the same), vivid purply-blue bruises in the shapes of fingers ran all the way up and down both his arms, one shoulder looked out-of-joint, and a faint, smeared trail of dried blood wound out from under his hair.  
  
I had to hold him down, Hermione said finally, in a detached voice. He wanted the ring. I couldn't let him have it. The wights were going to take us, and then it wouldn't matter anymore.  
  
Sirius nodded, and turned her away from the sight. All right. It's all right... he's fine, anyway, just had a hard knock to the head...  
  
I had to, Hermione repeated, feeling vaguely that she needed to defend herself, though she didn't know what from. She tried to take a step forward, but her right foot caught on her left ankle and she slipped. Sirius was caught off guard and nearly let her fall, but once again Pippin was there to her rescue. Pippin helped her sit down again, and she nodded slightly to no one in particular.  
  
_It's shock,_ some distant part of her mind, the only rational bit left, told her. _It's not serious. Just shock...  
_  
Snape was saying something to Merry and Pippin -- or maybe it was Sirius -- they were all talking now, at least... but Hermione found suddenly that she couldn't hold her eyes open any longer. Shock and exhaustion pulled her under the black tide of sleep, from which she wouldn't resurface for quite a while.  
  
--------  
  
Is she quite all right? asked Pippin, startled at Hermione's dead faint.  
  
said Snape, looking down at Hermione and the hobbit. Shock, exhaustion, lack of nourishment... none of the students at Hogwarts are really built for this sort of taxation on their bodies, and Granger less so than most. She spends all her time in books. I wouldn't be surprised if she had never ridden a broomstick in her life.  
  
Sirius glared. If this is only because she's a Muggle-born...  
  
Snape shrugged him off. Merely a practical statement. She can't handle this much exercise.  
  
Sirius didn't get to make any scathing comebacks, as Merry interrupted him with a curious, What's that? Pippin followed his glance and picked up the little square of folded cloth that had fallen out of Hermione's pocket.  
  
Wait -- Sirius began, alarmed, and Snape moved to snatch the thing away from the hobbits; but Merry had already reached out for it. When the package touched his hand, however, he cried out and dropped it instantly.  
  
he gasped, his eyes clouding. A sick, papery tinge was spreading along his right wrist, an echo of a past wound.  
  
Pippin lunged to his feet, alarmed.  
  
I tried to tell you, said Sirius, torn between exasperation and worry.  
  
Snape swept the package up from the ground near the hobbits' feet, tucking it securely into his front pocket. Sirius gave him a long, measured look, but Snape showed no outward sign that the ring was affecting him.  
  
Merry blinked and took a long deep breath, trembling and holding his wrist tightly. What is it? he said, a heavy gloom in his voice. Though I think could say I already know, if your story of other worlds is true. But tell me -- is it what I think it is?  
  
Severus nodded curtly. The Ruling Ring. Its essence was never truly destroyed. It had lost this world, so it tried to take refuge in ours.  
  
Pippin, sobered by this news, said, I'm very sorry to hear it. And I suppose you came here -- however you managed that -- to pass it off on us once again, as it was our trouble to begin with?  
  
Poor cousin Frodo's journey, made for nothing, whispered Merry, looking beaten.  
  
Sirius mouthed silently for a second, taken aback. Nothing of the sort! he exclaimed. Well, _I_ -- Snape and I didn't come by choice. It was Hermione who took it on herself to bring it here. She wanted to destroy it... and I don't think she'd let anyone else try to take over.  
  
Merry frowned. Are you sure she isn't becoming too possessive of it?  
  
Yes, Sam never spoke much of his and cousin Frodo's journey, but when he did he always said it was an awful fright whenever the Ring started to take Frodo in fits, added Pippin.  
  
Sirius, who had himself been wondering about that, looked down at Hermione's pale face. I... I really don't know. He shook his head, thinking to the night she had begged Snape to give it back to her. She hasn't had it long, but it seems to be working on her harder than it ever worked on anyone in the books. I mean, here. You -- well, Frodo, that is -- He rubbed his temples and muttered,   
  
piped Merry, speaking of these books. What about that? Who wrote them, anyway? The only book I know to have ever been written about Frodo and Strider and the rest was put together by Sam once Frodo and Mr. Bilbo had gone. The Red Book of Westmarch, it was, and it's still very famous both in the Shire and out of it. But how can the story of the Ring be known in another world?  
  
Sirius shrugged, and Snape said, I don't know. Parallel dimensions -- other worlds -- they were only a theory in our world. Miss Granger there wasn't the first person to _try_ to cross the barrier between worlds, but she was the first person to succeed. And the Ring may have played a part in that, as far as anyone knows -- in wanting to get back here, back to its own world, it helped her spell along.  
  
Sirius narrowed his eyes at Snape. How d'you figure that? he said suspiciously.  
  
Logic, Black, said Snape icily. But I'm sure your experience with that is rare.  
  
Sirius scowled and did not deign Snape with a response.  
  
It seems there are many questions to be asked, but only a few to be answered, said Merry. Color flushed his cheeks once again; he seemed to be a quick recoverer. One thing I hope you can answer, though, is where you've been -- however you got here, there is still the matter of where you're going _now._ Whereabouts did you... come through... into... our world? The words felt strange in the Halfling's mouth, and he struggled with them momentarily.  
  
The Old Forest, Sirius answered promptly. He snapped his fingers. Give me a sec', let me find the map -- you'll see. He stepped around Pippin and Hermione and knelt beside his pack, rummaging through it quickly.  
  
Pippin asked, bemused, and Snape barely had his mouth open to answer when Sirius whipped out the flimsy, slightly damp (as was everything else in his pack) parchment and brandished it at the hobbits. Sirius knelt awkwardly next to Pippin to show him the map, and Merry stepped over to see as well.  
  
The hobbits looked at the map for several long seconds. After a moment, Merry said slowly, I'm going to assume that this is this magic you kept speaking of.  
  
Sirius nodded. Uhn, see, there's us -- too tight a little clump to make out the names, but it has to be us. This is where we landed -- he pointed out a vague two-mile-ish area at the edge of the Old Forest --and we've been walking for two days.  
  
Merry arched his brows. For Big People you certainly make terrible traveling time, he said in a pitying tone. You really should have brought a packhorse from your world, at least.  
  
Sirius said eloquently.  
  
Snape intervened. The wizarding community where we come from hasn't much use for pack animals, and our usual modes of transportation are very different from yours.  
  
Oh, and what do you ride then, flying hearth rugs?  
  
said Snape, unfazed. Flying broomsticks.  
  
Pippin blinked.  
  
There's also Floo powder, Sirius added, as if this would make up for Snape's bluntness. It's a way of traveling between magical fireplaces. And Apparation, which is basically a self-teleportation spell -- but you have to have a license for that, it's fairly risky.  
  
No more risky than thundering about in two tons of metal on wheels, Snape said sourly. And they wonder why so many people die in automobile accidents. Muggles.  
  
Shut your trap, Sirius snapped, but it sounded half-hearted this time. He directed the bewildered hobbits' attention back to the map. We were making for the road this way, trying to avoid the barrows here... but we passed one on the east, unintentionally, probably back around... right about there. His finger obscured the spot, and Merry batted his hand out the way to examine the map more closely.  
  
And we met you about a half-mile off the road here, said Merry in a quasi-businesslike, abstracted way. You and... Snape there... Merry glanced up, but Severus was so used to being called by his last name that he hadn't even registered it. Merry cleared his throat. Er, yes, the two of you were perhaps a... mile and a half off your course to the southeast, but it did nearly get you to the north-south road where we were. And your friends here... what were their names? I can't see on the map.  
  
Hermione and Malf -- Sirius also dared a glance at Snape, who was giving the Animagus his deepest scowl. Sirius amended himself quickly. Hermione and, er, Draco.  
  
Yes, those two, they were farther off, maybe two miles, to the southwest. Heading deeper into the barrow-downs, not towards the road at all. Merry frowned. You mentioned something, when we found you, about there being others -- seven was your total number? I see only four accounted for.  
  
Two others are lost somewhere, probably -- one of them's badly injured, his ankle was broken and he can't walk, at least not much. There's no telling what straits they're in after this storm, either.  
  
Pippin had been looking over Merry's shoulder at the map in a deeply absorbed manner. Nearly before Sirius had finished speaking, he nudged Merry over and pointed one small finger at the map, nearly five miles away, on the south side of the west-bound road to Bree. Pippin squinted at the minuscule labels and read, Remus... L -- is that an L? -- Lupin? Odd name. And what is that other there? I can't see this at all, how can you possibly find this map useful anyway, if you can't even read it?  
  
But Sirius had already brightened and was saying, Remus -- and the other there is Eloise, it has to be. How the hell did they get all the way down there?  
  
The holding spell on the stretcher, said Snape, brows furrowed in thought. It must have broken. And Midgen grabbed onto the thing to keep it from blowing away --  
  
--And they both got carried off, I see the picture. Sirius snapped his fingers. How quick can we get to them? We're going towards the road anyway; we have to get to Bree.  
  
Snape and Sirius turned questioning eyes to the hobbits.  
  
The otherworldly people, straight off the pages on which they had been so accurately described, were completely unfazed by the two wizards' sharp attention. What do you say, Pip? said Merry to the other. With these two going as slow as they did on the march from the woods, and one unconscious and another injured?  
  
Pippin shook his head and eyed the four Big People despairingly. I'd say it's hopeless, he said. Without the ponies...  
  
Dratted creatures running off in a storm, cursed Merry.  
  
Think we could call up old Tom Bombadil to give us a lift?  
  
Oh, I wouldn't bother him. He taught me the whistle-trick when I passed through the last time.  
  
Did he? And you never told it to me? You Rohirrim are all the same.  
  
And you Gondorians never ask useful questions.  
  
Just whistle the ponies up, why don't you.  
  
Merry paused before putting his fingers to his mouth in order to say, I can't say whether it'll work, anyway. Then he let out a high, soaring whistle that rang stinging in Snape's and Sirius' ears.  
  
A second later, and nothing had happened. Merry became aware that everyone was looking at him. he said indignantly. They aren't going to just appear, _poof_ and all. Oy, you people are hopeless -- for all your claims to be wizards you're nothing like Gandalf, and not half as sensible. You've got an injured boy and the poor girl's gone slap out like a light, and are you even tending to them?  
  
Abandoning for a moment their deep-rooted enmity, Snape and Sirius exchanged a look that spoke for itself -- _Tolkien never quite got in the fact that the hobbits grew up to be drill sergeants, did he?_  
  
-------------  
  
A month ago, the hobbits had been perfectly happy in their own kingdoms and courts, sharing all the joy, weight, and responsibility of being knights of the realm. Although Merry served King Eomer in Rohan, and Pippin, the King Elessar of Gondor -- two countries that were a great distance removed from each other -- they did still see each other around almost constantly. Due to the marriage of Lord Faramir, Steward of Gondor, and Lady Eowyn, a shield maiden of Rohan and sister to the King, the two kingdoms could not have been more closely intertwined, for all the distance between them. Great feasts, gatherings, and councils were held in Ithilien, the evergreen land that Faramir and Eowyn ruled together in peace.  
  
Taking one of many leaves jointly granted by the Kings Elessar and Eomer, Pippin and Merry had only a few weeks ago ridden out of the South to come home to the Shire. The little house in Crickhollow that they had once prepared for Frodo Baggins to live in was still as comfortable as it ever was, and they stayed there when they visited. (The two traveling hobbits suspected that old Fatty Bolger had a tendency to keep it well-lived-in in their absences, as its wine cellar was greater and more varied than Fatty's own.) Only two days ago -- the same day Hermione's mismatched party of seven had landed themselves in the Old Forest -- Merry and Pippin had been arranging lodging with Barliman Butterbur, the innkeeper of the Prancing Pony in Bree. They had left the small town of Bree only that morning -- given, very early that morning, but still -- and had been very put out with the storm that swelled up unexpectedly around luncheon-time.  
  
It didn't take long to realize, however, that the storm wasn't just a run-of-the-mill thunder-shower. The faint voices on the air, the cries of the damned and abandoned, were unmistakable -- the hobbits had heard them only once again after their first experience, and on the second occasion, neither Tom Bombadil nor Gandalf nor anyone else had been there to come to their rescue. When they discovered that the wights had struck again at some unwary traveler, Merry and Pippin were less than two minutes in deciding to head straight into the heart of the storm. Reckless, maybe, but they had learned through years of service that in order to save someone, odds are you'll probably have to fight something first, and there's not much reason in lurking around the edge of a fight waiting for the assailant to notice you before you take him out.  
  
Barely half a mile off the road, they became aware of a darker gray blur in the fog and rain that might have been a wight -- or might not. As they dismounted and drew their swords in preparation, the blur got darker, nearly black -- and, in fact, split into two blurs, each of which developed voices that could be heard even over the howling wind. The blurs seemed to be having a shouted argument, the foul language of which could have curled the hair on the toes of Rory Brandybuck himself.  
  
Pippin shouted into the wind, Oy, there! Who is it? –friend or foe?  
  
We shan't suffer any to pass who pledge allegiance to the Shadow in the East, called Merry, though his words were perhaps larger than his skill at swordplay, and it was a good thing that it wasn't a straggling band of lost orcs bearing down on them.  
  
screamed a voice through the wind. Lower, but still shouting, it continued, Did you hear something? Besides the voices in your head, filth!  
  
Filth my -- And who was it who fell in the mud anyway? _You're_ the f--  
_  
Who's there!_ Pippin shouted again, getting impatient.  
  
Right about then was when the large black-shrouded figure of a man stumbled forward to within sight of the hobbits and nearly trampled Merry. Pippin jumped aside, alarmed, and quickly raised his sword...  
  
Ho, whoa, wait on now a second here, blurted Sirius, tripping over the hem of his robe and falling backwards with a loud thud on the soggy, muddy ground. A small grin played on the face of the second figure, who was already rather muddy. Merry realized with a start that Snape was standing right beside him, and whirled about.  
  
Pippin blinked at the pathetic sight of the Big Person, nearly two and a half feet taller than either of the hobbits, sitting forlornly in the sloshy mud front of him, and lowered his sword.  
  
Well, out with it then, who are you? Are you an ally or an enemy to the great kingdoms of the south, Rohan and Gondor? Merry felt oddly superior over these strangely-dressed Big Folk who obviously had no idea what they were doing.  
  
said Sirius, bewildered and soggy and highly annoyed at falling in the mud as Snape had just done not so long ago.  
  
Snape cut in before Sirius could ruin any chance they had with the natives. Friends of Gondor and Rohan, certainly. And the Shire, and.... um... Lorien.... and all the other parts that were on the good side, I can't remember them all.  
  
said Pippin, blinking again.  
  
Sirius was on his feet again, struggling to unstick his left boot from the mud. It came loose with a deep sucking noise. He glanced down at Pippin and Merry and said, unforgivingly, Forgive Snape-y there, he's just a stupid old git with his head up his --  
  
Severus clenched his fists and hissed, One more word out of you, Black! One more word and I swear --  
  
cried Merry. I say, I suppose it isn't my place, but...  
  
said Pippin again, trodding on Merry's foot. Your names, sirs? I can't say I can really place your faces... that is, I know most of the allies of Gondor and... He trailed off, his eyes wandering over their robes and strange boots -- he couldn't tell what the material was that they were made of. It looked like leather, but somehow different...  
  
Sirius and Severus shared a glance that clearly conveyed the awkwardness of this situation.  
  
Mightn't we hear your names first? said Snape as graciously as he could.  
  
Oh, I'm Pippin... Peregrin, I mean... son of Paladin, and this here is Meriadoc son of Saradoc, only most people call him Merry...  
  
Neither of the two men heard anything beyond the words _I'm Pippin._ The rest of Pippin's banter seemed to merely fade out, like a badly tuned radio signal. Shortly, Sirius became aware that his mouth was slightly open.  
  
You are? Merry prompted for the second time. Snape snapped out of his daze sooner than Sirius.  
  
Professor Severus Snape, he said, uttering the sibilant s's like a snake. And this is --  
  
Wary of insults, Sirius cut in with a hasty, I can introduce myself well enough, you slimy git. Sirius Black, at your service and all whatever it is they say around here.  
  
Where _are_ you from, anyway? asked the hobbits, almost in unison.  
  
said Sirius.  
  
Snape swallowed his pride long enough to have a whispered conversation with Sirius...  
  
What do you think? Not that I value your opinion, but let's hear it anyway.  
  
Merry and Pippin... I mean, they're just... they're Merry and _Pippin_ and -- bludgering _HELL_ I can't believe this is really happening...  
  
Pull yourself together, man. What do we tell them? They're sure to be more open-minded than most people we could find around here. The Elves might believe us, but they're all gone. No way to get to Bree or anywhere else now and besides, we got lost in the first ten miles of the journey -- there's no hope of making the rest of the trip this way.  
  
You know what I think? I think you have an inborn talent for making everything sound hopeless. And yeah, I agree we can't keep going alone, but... these guys aren't seriously going to believe we're wizards from a parallel dimension. Sirius pulled a face. 'Wizards from a parallel dimension'... sounds like a really horrid Muggle-American fantasy movie from the 50's.  
  
We have to _try,_ Black. It grates me to be so stale and cliche here, but they're our only hope.  
  
Sirius looked over Snape's shoulder at the hobbits, and sighed. He spoke quickly. All right, but look, what do we do if they don't believe us?  
  
They'll just blow us off as madmen and forget about us, more than likely. Snape glowered at Sirius and drove in his final point with a cold sarcastic glint. Of course it won't _matter,_ we'll _only_ be left here with hardly any supplies, four or five other members of the company lost in a storm, and no experienced help standing right at hand... hand-_height,_ that is.  
  
Sirius curled his lip at the rain-drenched Professor of Potions and huffed, Fine then. You get to explain everything, you're so keen on it. Don't blame me when they lock you up in a padded cell.  
  
Snape turned back to the hobbits, opening his mouth to begin.  
  
Oy, Sev, Sirius added in a sickly-sweet voice. Try to get a straitjacket in a nice light blue, it'll bring out the extreme lack of color in your eyes.  
  
Severus cleanly stepped back onto Sirius's toes with the heavy, sharp heels of his boots, making Sirius' breath catch with an undignified squeak. He kicked Snape off and stood brooding to the side while Severus, unfazed, began his explanations...  
  
The only critical moment was when Merry and Pippin took one long look at each other in the following silence, coming to an unspoken mutual conclusion.  
  
After a moment Pippin looked back to Snape, and said sincerely, How soon do you need to get to Bree?  
  
Both Severus and Sirius let out the breaths they had been holding.  
  
------------  
_  
Back to the present..._  
  
Eventually the ponies came around, ambling along at their own lazy pace, grazing absently. Merry went to tend to them, rolling his eyes at the wizards,' who were arguing once again over Draco and Hermione, undecided about whether or not to revive one or both of them. Pippin cleaned the streak of blood off of Draco's scalp in the meantime, ignoring Sirius and Snape, and examined the wound. Nothing more than a bad bruise, and a small cut where Hermione's hair clip had caught his skin when she lashed backwards.  
  
Although the argument had come to no definite end and could probably go on forever, Snape finally tuned Sirius out entirely and went about his own plans as if the other man did not exist. Schoolboy grudges die hard, especially between two such people as Severus Snape and Sirius Black -- and each's old methods of dealing' with the other tend to come back with a vengeance. Snape ignored Sirius, or spat cold insults at him; and Sirius had to repress urges to levitate Snape upside-down for a good few hours. Sadly, he reminded himself that he had no magic, and therefore settled for throwing verbal barbs at Snape's back.  
  
Severus produced a small vial, probably one of many, from somewhere within his damp robes and waved it under Draco's nose -- Hogwarts House preference still ruled, and he didn't really feel like doing anything at all for the Granger girl if he could help it. But then, again, there was Sirius looming ominously over him... so with an inward scowl Snape revived Hermione as well.  
  
Draco woke quickly, as if startled out of a light doze. His gray eyes snapped open and he jerked his head forward off the ground, eliciting an instant, half-choked curse. He let his head fall back again as his eyes refocused. His sinus cavity was itchy and tingly-feeling from the deep breath he had taken of the reviving potion, and there was a great, sharp pain behind his eyes and up around his temples. His limbs felt too heavy to move. It took him a moment to register that it wasn't raining anymore, and the only wind was a light breeze, though the sky was still overcast and the air dark and damp with the storm's passing.  
  
He blinked and squinted at the pale face framed with dark hair hovering above him. In the dimness, Draco couldn't tell whether it was Snape or Sirius --  
_  
That_ brought his slow-waking mind back to a screeching halt. Where was Granger? Draco had no memory of anything beyond Hermione warning him about the ring, about what it was trying to make her do. There had been wights... hadn't there? It didn't seem like he had... fallen asleep... or unconscious... what had happened? An entire piece of his memory, of his _life,_ gone as if surgically removed from his mind. It was unsettling, and he felt more vulnerable and afraid for the thought of it.  
  
he croaked, hoping vaguely that the more agreeable (at least to Draco) of the two dark-haired men was the one who had woken him up.  
  
Just lie still, said the man. It was most definitely Professor Snape's voice. Draco let out a short breath.  
  
What happened?  
  
In a moment, said Severus, brushing aside Draco's question. Lord knew it was going to take another half an hour or more to get the two teens back to themselves and caught up on events, and that would only waste more of the little time they had to find Midgen and the werewolf.  
  
Once Hermione and Draco were well and fully awake -- both a bit nauseous from the reviving potion and more than a bit sore from their fight, but neither too much the worse for wear -- explanations had to be given all around once again. Merry, who had gone through the packs the ponies had brought back, provided everyone with food while they spoke. It was good traveler's food, much better for the weary and footsore wizards than what they had brought from Hogwarts' kitchens. Severus kept his and Sirius' end of it short and succinct, and Merry stopped Pippin from starting any amusing anecdotes about his time serving in the Tower of Guard by way of a lot of toe-stepping and a judicious usage of elbows. To Severus' relief (for he was getting very tired of explaining things again and again), they all satisfied each other of the current state of events very quickly, and were left with nothing to do but set off once again, back on track in their quest, heading for Bree.  
  
The four wizards, so used to being castle-bound, were wonderfully grateful to have proper guides at last. Merry and Pippin, talking and listening and asking questions about other worlds as cheerfully as could be, did not lead them back the way they had come with Sirius and Severus, back to the north-south road -- instead, they expertly found a path across the country, cutting off the corner they would have taken had they gone back to the road. They knew the country like the backs of their hands, and the barrows held no worries for them.  
  
Hermione and Draco walked a little more slowly than the adults, always lagging behind, but never quite far enough to draw attention to themselves. Hermione watched the ground, and Draco watched the distant air; and every once in a while they watched each other, but neither when the other was looking, and neither with any expression whatsoever.  
-------------


End file.
